


Indemnify

by Deathtouch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Amputation, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Bathing/Washing, Begging, Bruises, Clothed Male / Naked Male, Cock Rings, Collars, Come Eating, Coming Untouched, Corporal Punishment, Cruelty, Crying, Degradation, Dehumanization, Domestic Owner/slave, Fingerfucking, Hand Feeding, Head Shaving, Hitting, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Inspection, Invasion of Privacy, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Mentions of Enemas, Minor Character Death, Modern Westeros, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Object Insertion, Objectification, Paddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sexual Slavery, Shower Sex, Slave Trade, Slave Training, Slave auction, Slavery, Sleepy Sex, Spanking, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Tattoos, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Vomit, Vomiting, Whipping, bathroom use control, belt whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 93,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathtouch/pseuds/Deathtouch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>indemnify<br/>verb  in·dem·ni·fy \in-ˈdem-nə-ˌfī\<br/>1:  to secure against hurt, loss, or damage<br/>2:  to make compensation to for incurred hurt, loss, or damage</p><p>
  <i>Roose stepped back to get a good view of all of the cages, waiting for something to catch his eye; some slave he hadn’t noticed before, or hadn’t looked close enough at. Sometimes it worked, and he found a diamond in the rough waiting in a cage that he’d passed over twice before. Most times he was faced with the same underwhelming slaves, ones he’d passed over for good reason.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>This time, to Roose’s surprise, something did catch his eye…. “What about this one?” He asked, inclining his head to a cage towards the back.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Ah…” The Greatjon hesitated. “There’s a story there, if you’d like to hear it.”</i>
</p><p>☛ in which i write a trashy throose slavery au bcos why not haha. this fic is also known as the #ThrooseSlavefic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PREFACE

**Author's Note:**

> when i younger kid, first exploring the dark corners of the internet, i came across an original work about sexual slavery. it impacted me more than i care to admit because here i am all these years later trying to recreate the magic of what it was like reading a slavery au for the first time. i dont know that i created magic with this fic but i wrote something i've been wanting to write for a long long _long_ time. this story may not be perfect in anyone else's eyes but i am so proud of myself for writing something i really wanted to write. please enjoy, if you're so inclined...
> 
> i owe the literal biggest thank you to everyone who suffered through listening to me complain about how hard this fic was to write. thank you to the bolton/greyjoy fam on twitter especially for cheering me on and waiting for so long to read this. thank you to ducky and shelby and yosb and everyone else. thanks also to thatgirlwhodraws and the kind anons on tumblr. for over a year yall sat through me bitching about writing and editing. i wouldn't have gotten anywhere without the support.
> 
> most importantly i need to think my beta, subwaywolf. i don't know if i can possibly explain the overwhelming sense of gratitude i feel when i think about all the time and work he poured into this fic. i am utterly in awe of him and everything he has done for me. he helped mold this fic into something clean and beautiful. the amount of care he's show this story is unmistakable. of course i've gone in and changed things and fucked it all up so any errors you see are mine and not his. subway wolf is a beautiful cinnamon roll to good for this world, too pure. thank you zack. thank you thank you thank you. i adore you, you are perfect, and your efforts are so so so appreciated. thank you so much, thank you. each chapter of this fic i am writing a special thank you just for you. you deserve so much more, but it's the least i can do for all you've done for me.
> 
> and one last thing before we get this show on the road. i implore you, every single person who even glances at this fic for a second. please. only refer to it as the #ThrooseSlavefic. i know it has an official name, but it's the #ThrooseSlavefic in my heart. (and in all of our hearts tbh)

“Ser…” Damon hefted his bag over his shoulder, pausing where he stood. He cocked his head softly to the side. Light from the windows of the front room poured into the hallway and illuminated the slave from behind. His golden hair showed hints of ginger in the sunlight.

“You won’t be calling me that for very much longer.” Roose said evenly, realizing this as he spoke. Damon would leave this house a slave and come back indebted but no longer owned.

Damon smiled. “I know I said thank you before, but I want you to know…”

Roose waved a hand, effectively silencing him. “I’ve heard enough ‘thank you’s.” Damon had scarcely said a single word that wasn’t in gratitude since he found out he’d be leaving. “I don’t want to hear it again. Not until you come back certified. You know what your tasks are while your away.”

The seriousness of Roose’s words set in and Damon swallowed audibly. He nodded his head.

“Focus on your certification. Keep an eye on Ramsay. Keep him out of trouble.” Roose listed the three objectives. Damon did not need reminding, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt to hear it all again.

“Yes, ser,” Damon nodded.

“You’ve always been good at following my orders.” Roose told him. He reached out to kindly touch Damon’s shoulder. As soft as his touch was, his words were deep and fateful. “Don’t disappointment me.”

Damon nodded again. The determination was clear on his face. He was not one for failure, and even in the impossible task of keeping Ramsay out of trouble he would do his damnedest to succeed. That was a big part of the reason Roose was allowing all of this. It was dangerous putting so much of his trust in one slave but he had no other choice.

“Roose?”

The car horn honked outside. Ramsay was out in the car, clearly growing impatient.

“…you know what will happen when he comes back, right? He’ll want the Dreadfort. He’s going to try and take it from you. Once he’s certified, there’ll be nothing stopping him.” Damon’s concern was so earnest it was almost endearing.

Roose softened a little. “I know,” He assured. “Your task is to keep him out of trouble for the next six months. Beyond that, I’ll see to him.”

Damon nodded. He shifted his bag further up on to his shoulder from where it had slid down his arm. He glanced towards the door. “Oil it for me?” He asked hopefully. “Please, ser?”

Roose nearly smiled. “It’s just a whip Damon. It needs little care. It will be waiting for you when you return.”

In an utterly impulsive moment Damon reached out and grasped for Roose’s free hand. He brought it up, threading Roose’s fingers through the golden locks of his hair. “I won’t get to hear you say it again.” He whispered. “Not ever after this.”

The horn blared again outside but for the both of them it was only a distant noise that faded into the background.

Roose grabbed a fistful of Damon’s hair and tugged lovingly. “ _Good_ ,” He whispered softly. “You’ve been so good.”

Damon made a soft noise low in his throat, attempting to keep control of his emotions. It was easier said than done. He pulled away, and Roose let go of his hair. Damon turned to the door before Roose could see the big tears welling up in his eyes. “Six months, ser.”

“Six months.” Roose repeated knowingly.

Damon left out the front door. Roose closed it behind him, not bothering to watch as he and Ramsay pulled out of the driveway to leave. He had a training facility to run after all and seeing the two of them off had already made him late today. It was best not to waste any more time, he ought to head off to work.


	2. PART I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags will be updated as chapters are updated. be sure to check them as the story progresses!
> 
> as always thank you so much to my darling subwaywolf. sometimes i think about how many commas you had to set right and i get a little weak in the knees. you climbed the insurmountable mountain that is my poor grammar. a 90 fucking k mountain. i hope you feel as grand as the first person to climb mount everest. in my eyes you are just as impressive.

“I have a few you might like,” the Greatjon said. He was an odd man; big and burly and curiously kind to his stock. He fed them well and touched them kindly, though heaven help the slave that ever set this man off. 

Roose had seen the Greatjon angry once or twice, and it was not something he would like to see again. He expected it happened more often when there were no buyers around, because half his slaves were bruised, but he was good about causing damage that didn’t last and that was the most important thing.

Roose only nodded politely, and he let the Greatjon lead him back to the cages. The kennel had not changed in all the years that Roose had been coming here, and he knew his way around the back, but it was expected that the seller would still show him the new merchandise personally.

Most of the slaves were smart enough to get on their knees as soon as the door to the kennels was opened. It was a way to entice buyers, a display of a obedience, and it meant a better chance of getting picked. There were a few that lingered in confusion away from the bars of their cages, and others who did not bother to present themselves at all. 

Most sellers did not tolerate such disobedience, but the Greatjon seemed not to care. He broke his slaves in slowly over time. Roose knew this because he visited often enough to see it happen. Sometimes slaves went unsold and over the course of a few months Roose watched them go from disinterested and disobedient to presenting themselves politely to potential buyers. 

Roose was a valued customer here. They didn’t roll out the red carpet when he came to buy raw slaves, but that was only because he didn’t want them to. Instead of pomposity or lavishness that most trainers were met with, Roose was given honesty and fair prices instead. He liked that much better.

There were endless laws and regulations that came with buying, selling, training, and owning slaves. Sellers of raw slaves were like the used car dealers of the business, skirting around the truth of what they had in their stock. Roose understood why they did such things, but that didn’t mean he had to put up with it. 

The regulations concerning defects were so critical that it was impossible to find any slave without at least one mark against them. Bones that had been broken long ago that were now perfectly healed were technically considered defects. Roose Bolton was not the type of man who worried about healed bones. Slaves who had been released from their owners for behavioral issues were considered defected, but Roose found that in most cases it was the previous owner to blame. Deafness, blindness, and other major disabilities were also considered defects. He did not balk at any of that either. He bought disabled slaves the same as the rest, and insisted that the blind and deaf could be trained just as easily.

It wasn’t every day that a buyer came in ready and willing to pick up the items that were hardest to sell. Sellers learned to appreciate him because without Roose, their kennels would be overflowing with the unwanted. All Roose asked in return was honesty. It was better to know what he was taking back to his training facility than not. He was willing to pay a fair price, sometimes more than what the slave was worth, so long as it saved him the trouble of an exhausting haggling and the effort of trying to weasel every little defect out of a seller.

Roose wasn’t the type of man one argued with, and when he came knocking on a kennel door demanding the truth, all it took was one look in his pale eyes for most sellers to tuck in their tails and give it to him. 

The Greatjon hadn’t done as much tail tucking the first time he met Roose, but that only made him more respectable in Roose’s opinion. That was why, despite Greatjon’s mediocre stock, he kept coming back to his kennels to look for his best - or, his worst, depending on the way one looked at it.

They passed the first few cages, much to the dismay of the slaves within, and the Greatjon stopped at a nearly empty kennel. “Lot twelve,” the Greatjon said into the cage, and a boy appeared from the back. He was lean and harrowed looking, with dark eyes and a scowl on his face. 

Like all the other slaves, he was stark naked. His cock was long and thick, nestled in thick, dark hair. This indicated that he had either never been owned before, or his last owners had chosen not to remove any hair. An unpopular aesthetic choice, but one that Roose had seen before and preferred, in truth. The slave was uncut as well, which reconfirmed Roose’s two ideas about his past.

“Show us a smile,” the Greatjon ordered. The slave did not smile.

“Disobedient?” Roose questioned.

“Incredibly,” The Greatjon grumbled. “Though, if anyone’s like to change that, it’d be you.”

Roose was internally pleased at the sentiment. If that was his reputation, then he was glad for it. He had turned around a great many disobedient slaves, and he was proud of that. “Pre-owned?” Roose continued his questions. He gave the slave another once-over, considering him.

The Greatjon nodded his head.

“How much?” Roose asked.

“Sixteen,” The Greatjon told him. Roose considered the price. The boy was young enough, and his body was fit enough. His face was striking; the price ought to be more. “Abused?” He surmised.

The Greatjon nodded to the affirmative.

“I’m interested in him,” Roose decided. Abused slaves did not sell well, but Roose had luck with them. 

They moved on then. The Greatjon showed him another slave whose leg was in a cast. He was trying his best to sit on his knees, but the bulk of his plaster wrapped limb left him sitting in an odd position. “He’s obedient, this one.” Greatjon said. “Does as he’s told. You can start training him, and once the cast is off he’ll be healed just fine.”

“When is the cast due to come off?” Roose asked.

The Greatjon hesitated. “Eight months.”

Ah. Roose could train a slave in less than eight months if it was as obedient as the Greatjon promised this one was. He would have to keep the slave in his care for extra time because there was no way to sell a trained slave with its leg in a boot. Raw slaves were expected to come with a few problems, trained slaves were not. No buyer would want a trained slave with a broken leg. End of story. 

On top of that, the slave’s leg was not like to come out looking nice. It would be pale and weak compared to the other, and it would take time for the slave to look like he hadn’t just been through an eight month recovery for an injury. If Roose had to wait to put him on the market, he would lose money paying to keep the slave in his care. It was a waste.

Still. No one else was like to buy a slave with a busted leg. “Ask me again the next time I’m here,” Roose decided. Hopefully the slave would be gone by then, but if not, Roose would reconsider.

They moved on to a cage filled with six slaves, no, seven, which was unfortunate for them because cages were built for one. “This lot just came in this morning,” The Greatjon explained. 

All seven of them were fair-haired with blue eyes and pale skin. The oldest couldn’t have been more than twenty. Roose could always tell a slave’s age. They ranged from slim to toned and they all stood before him naked as the day they were born. None of them were especially good looking. They weren’t ugly slaves, they just didn’t have anything about their features that made them interesting. Roose moved on.

He revisited a slave he remembered from last time: a boy with a golden brown skin and dark hair clipped short. Roose remembered the look of him better than anything else. His bottom teeth had grown in twisted in a way that most sellers would not approve of, but Roose did not mind them. The problem with the slave was not his teeth, and not that he wasn’t attractive; he was. The problem was that his chest rattled when he breathed and he was prone to coughing. It had been weeks since Roose had been through to see the Greatjon’s stock, and it appeared the slave had not improved at all. He looked even sicker, in all honesty.

“Are you treating him?” Roose questioned. 

The slave’s form had improved. Roose remembered that he had been sitting on his knees the last time he’d seen the boy, but now his back was straight and his head was bowed politely. This was impressive considering the fact that he was unwell.

“Cheaply,” the Greatjon admitted. In other words, the slave was not like to get better.

The Greatjon probably got the sick slave for free, in all honesty. Most owners tossed their slaves aside the minute they showed sign of illness. Sometimes it was cheaper to buy new, but it was the continued upkeep of a slave with constant illnesses and maladies that owners simply did not want to deal with. Not unless they were sentimental towards their slaves, and some people were, but Roose bought and sold in the sex trade. No one wanted a sickly sex slave. Sex slaves had the shortest life spans of all types of slaves. Some could go on to be companions after their life of use in the bedroom, but most didn’t.

Roose considered. The boy’s skin was smooth; someone had gone through the trouble of laser hair removal. If they spent the money on that, they should have been willing to spend the money on treatment for a cough… unless he was sick often. Roose recalled having this thought the last time he looked the boy over. It was better that he shouldn’t waste his time. “I’m not interested in this one,” he decided definitively. The Greatjon seemed disappointed as Roose was likely to be the only buyer interested in him, but he understood.

“The rest are the same old mutts you’ve seen before,” he said, waving a large hand towards kennels that went further back. 

Roose stepped back to get a good view of all of the cages, waiting for something to catch his eye; some slave he hadn’t noticed before, or hadn’t looked close enough at. Sometimes it worked, and he found a diamond in the rough waiting in a cage that he’d passed over twice before. Most times he was faced with the same underwhelming slaves, ones he’d passed over for good reason.

This time, to Roose’s surprise, something did catch his eye…. “What about this one?” He asked, inclining his head to a cage towards the back.

“Ah…” The Greatjon hesitated. “There’s a story there, if you’d like to hear it.”

Roose found that he was even more curious now. He wandered slowly towards the back, closer and closer to the boy in the cage who had intrigued him. 

He got a clearer look as he came closer. The slave was gorgeous, and his body was chorded with appropriate muscle. His hair was long and black and smooth and it suited his face perfectly. Roose was surprised. A man like the Greatjon sold many decent raw slaves, but rarely did he have something this impressive to offer. This boy should be in a kennel with a better reputation, down towards the heart of Westeros where the buyers paid twice as much for raw slaves. He was a grade above the rest, clearly. 

“Tell me.” Roose peered into the cage and the slave peered back at him. He had not bothered to get on his knees.

“Well, since Ned Stark was bought out…” The Greatjon started, and already Roose’s lips nearly twitched into a smile.

It had been three months since his only competition in the region had been bought by a larger company. The Starks had trained and sold companion slaves when they were still in business. Sex slaves and companions were incomparable, so it wasn’t a direct competition between two businesses but still it was nice to see the Starks shut down. They were sticklers for adhering to conduct codes and defect regulations.

It was rare that he ever came across slaves that the Starks had resold back into the market, and usually it was for inane behavioral problems. Roose had repurposed a few Stark slaves and he didn’t care for the ones he had picked up in the past. Usually he never had trouble reconditioning pre-owned slaves unless the slave had been pre-owned by the Starks, then it was easier to stick his head through a brick wall than to train their timidness out of them. 

This slave, black haired and beautiful, did not seem timid, though. He didn’t seem obedient, either, having declined to present himself. He must not have been with the Starks very long.

The Greatjon continued. “The ones that were trained enough were sold, their untrained went back out onto the raw slave market, and then… there was this one.”

The slave’s eyebrow dimpled, a small indication of his disconcertion as he listened to the Greatjon and Roose speak.

“He was traded to the Starks from the Greyjoy shipping company, as a perk in some sort of business negotiation. He’s… he wasn’t technically a slave. He’s the son of Balon Greyjoy, the head of the company.” The Greatjon was not known for his eloquence and articulation. He used his hands when he spoke and seemed to struggle with conveying the details. Roose nodded his head once to show that he understood, and the Greatjon continued. “He was meant for the Starks, for the Stark family to own… he was a companion, I suppose. I guess that’s what they trained him to be.”

The son of a wealthy man traded to a slave training family. That certainly didn’t happen every day.

“How did you manage to get him in your possession?” Roose asked.

“Same as I get other slaves. After I found out who he was, I tried contacting the Greyjoys to ask if they wanted him back, but they haven’t replied. I never used them for shipping. Don’t think they like me much.” The Greatjon shrugged. “If they wanted him, they could have asked for him. I’d have sent him off - for a fee, mind you - but I’d have sent him.”

The slave was frowning unhappily now. That was impolite of him. Even if he didn’t like what he was hearing, he ought not to look so displeased.

“Is he for sale?” Roose asked.

The question he should be asking was whether it was ethical or not to take someone from a prominent family and train them to be a sex slave. Roose had asked himself this question before, and he he found the answer was no. Did he care? Also no. 

Balon Greyjoy shouldn’t have sent his son away to begin with. Anyone could end up in shackles, that was a fact of life, but usually rich families took care of their own. What madness had begotten Balon that he thought it a good idea to send his son away? To the Starks, no less? Roose would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that business negotiation.

Whatever the reason they sent him away, they weren’t interested in the boy any longer, clearly. Roose could not blame them. If one of his own sons had been softened by the Starks, he would want as little to do with them as possible. Of course, only one of his sons was still alive. Domeric was resting peacefully six feet deep somewhere and Ramsay wouldn’t be home for another five months. This boy who sat before him was not one of his sons. He was a slave now. Roose could treat him like a slave. Could train him like a slave. He was too good looking to stay in a place like this. 

Roose had been tempted by the thought of a personal slave for a long, long time. It was not that he needed one, and he certainly didn’t need the distraction, but he did want one. He was the head of a large training facility. He was an overseer now, and he hadn’t trained a slave by himself in years. He wouldn’t say that he missed it - he wasn’t sentimental - but he would enjoy the opportunity to do it again. On a small scale, on his own terms.

It may not be his best idea or investment, but Roose had been telling himself to wait. Wait, wait, wait. Wait until he found the perfect slave. Wait until the time was right. He could not say that this slave was perfect, but he was certainly the finest raw slave Roose had ever seen. The time was good enough as it would ever be. He had his house to himself and without Ramsay around to make a mess of things he might actually have the energy to spend on training a slave instead of trying to reign in his last remaining son.

The Greatjon thought for a moment. “We had him processed, same as the rest.” This was not an answer to Roose’s question. “He came with a file that had him marked for behavioral issues, and all his past training… it didn’t say anything about what condition he was in. Bolton, believe me when I tell you, when we processed him we came to the conclusion that he was still a virgin.”

Roose looked to the Greatjon, raising an eyebrow. He was not a man easily taken aback, but that impressed him. 

“Boy,” he called out to the slave, because there was no lot number on the cage door. “Is this true? Are you a virgin?”

The slave seemed humiliated, and the displeasure on his face was more obvious than ever. “No,” he said.

“No?” Roose repeated.

“I’ve fucked girls, ser,” the slave told him.

“That’s very interesting,” Roose said calmly, though in truth, it wasn’t any interest to him at all. “However, what I want to know is if anyone has fucked you.”

The slave frowned, stepping further back. “No, ser.”

Roose didn’t think he was lying. All the slaves he was interested in purchasing would need to be processed again on their way out to make sure their condition was indeed as marked before pricing was finalized and contracts were signed. Roose would be able to confirm for himself whether the Greatjon and the slave’s claims about virginity were true.

“I’d like to have a look at him as well,” Roose decided.

The Greatjon had not given him a price, and it was likely to be ludacris whatever it was, but Roose was interested. Genuinely interested. He had not been this interested in a slave in such a long time. If things went wrong during processing, than he would give up the thought of taking this one home as a personal pet, but for now he allowed himself to entertain this interest.

“If the Greyjoys come knocking at your door looking for him?” The Greatjon asked.

Roose only shrugged, a tiny lift of his shoulder. “If they do, I’ll deal with them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment if you feel so inclined! or send me an ask at [frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) and we can chat about the #ThrooseSlavefic together!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags will be updated as chapters are updated. be sure to check them as the story progresses!
> 
> in this chapter i go full medfet, as medical kink is favorite and most beloved fetish. dont worry if it's not your thing, the hardcore medfet is mostly contained to this chapter and this chapter only with vague mentions of it later on. also this is where the dubcon / noncon kicks in. technically, with slavery, it's all noncon so tread carefully if that's something that bothers you.
> 
> and of course a big giant thank you to subwaywolf who is perfect and amazing. you are swift as a deer, quiet as a shadow, quick as a snake, calm as still water, strong as a bear, and fierce as a wolverine. fear cuts deeper than swords and you face my terrible grammar with bravery every day.

The Greatjon went in and collared both slaves Roose had shown interest in. He used temporary collars, grey in color with silver metal clasps. He dragged them both out by the neck. Despite the fact that neither slave was known for their impressive obedience, they both seemed to come willingly. Perhaps they were glad to be up for sale and out of their cages.

Roose could hardly tell whether slaves were ever truly that happy to be bought by him. Some fell to their knees to thank him after he signed the contracts, but changed their minds when they were brought to the training facility. Others cursed and spit at him, and remained just as angry for the entire time he had them in his possession. Others still gave no indication that they liked him or their training at all. Roose quite liked those slaves the best, obedient and pliant, who did as they were commanded without opposition. In a perfect world, all slaves would be those types of slaves. He would never receive a discount for disobedience ever again, but it would certainly make his life easier.

The Greatjon lead the two slaves to a corner of the kennels where a door lay waiting. On the other side was a long, narrow hall. Roose had been through here enough times to know which doors were to the offices, the file rooms, the supply rooms, the bathrooms for buyers, and the grooming rooms for the slaves. Of course, there was the processing room as well and that’s where they were headed.

The processing room was small. Roose liked that; he found it more intimate. He knew bigger kennels that had large processing rooms with multiple processors going through slaves like cows through a milking machine. He preferred this. The walls, floor, and cabinets were all a sterile white. There was a large examination table that took up the middle of the room and a chair for the processor to sit in, but other than that it was relatively empty.

Smalljon waited for them in there, and when the door opened he was found reading a book with a solemn expression on his face. Despite his name, he was as big as his father if not bigger. Roose supposed that was best. He had known slave sellers half the size of the Umbers, and he’d seen them pushed around by their slaves. It was best to have a processor of size to better keep the unruly slaves in check. Smalljon was perfect for the role.

Roose had been buying from Greatjon for so long he remembered when he had an old man working for him as processor instead. One ornery slave got the better of the man and headbutted him so hard his nose cracked open. Roose hadn’t seen it happened, but he’d heard the story. Smalljon went off and got certified in processing then, to help his father with the business, and now he had the job. Roose liked the boy, he was efficient and good at what he did, so it was all for the better.

Smalljon nodded his head to Roose. “Bolton,” He said, before turning his attention to the slaves that had been brought in. His solemn expression did not brighten any. “Which one’s first?”

“Lot twelve. Go on.” Greatjon instructed, pushing him forward first.

Smalljon found a pair of latex gloves to slide onto the big hands of his, and he offered a pair to Roose too. Roose put them on, and tried not to snap them on his wrist in any predictable sort of way. The Smalljon patted his chest, and found a pen sized flashlight in his shirt pocket. He clicked it on. “Open your mouth, twelve,” Smalljon instructed.

Twelve did as he was told. The Smalljon shined the light inside and together he and Roose looked into the slave’s mouth. “No spotting on his throat, and no visibly detectable diseases,” he commented. Roose confirmed that with what he saw. “We did a swab when he first arrived to no result, but we can quickly do one again if you’d like,” he offered.

Roose shook his head. He had never had a problem with the raw slaves that came from the Greatjon; no sudden throat infections or coughs that had come up after purchasing them. Other sellers he often requested swabs from, because the state of their kennels was questionable, but here it wasn’t necessary.

Smalljon moved on. “Teeth still in good condition.” He glanced at Roose. “Anything, Bolton?”

Again, Roose shook his head.

The Smalljon continued processing. He shined the light in the boy’s ears and confirmed there was no infection. He pulled a stethoscope from the drawer, and confirmed his lungs and heart clean and healthy to listen to. The moved to the boy’s cock next. He was uncut, so the Smalljon carefully slid back his foreskin to show everything that could be shown. Again, he confirmed no visible diseases, nothing misshapen or irregular. He told Roose that they’d tested his urine when he arrived and found nothing. Roose declined a second test. The Smalljon felt for hernias and made the slave turn his head and cough deeply.

This time when Smalljon asked, “Anything?” Roose decided he should have a feel. He hefted the boy’s cock and balls into his hand, squeezing them in a way that made the slave’s face pinch up. The weight felt right in his palm considering the size, and after a moment he let go of the boy and nodded. It was a rather clinical gesture all things considered, more about sizing the slave up than any personal interest. “Go on.” He told Smalljon, and so they continued.

Smalljon made a motion with his finger, giving it a twirl. “Turn around. Bend over the table.” The slave’s expression soured a little, but he did as he was told. With gloved hands, Smalljon pulled the boy’s bare cheeks apart. “Oh, you’ve improved, lot twelve,” he murmured.

“This one was bruised and bleeding when we took him in,” Greatjon interrupted, explaining.

Roose caught a good look and nodded. He saw nothing wrong now, and that was a good thing. The slave’s hole was pink and puckered, in line with what he liked to see. 

Smalljon produced a small bottle of lubricant from the same pocket his pen light had been in. He uncapped it with his thumb and squirted a fat gob on the slave’s hole. The boy clenched, surprised by the sensation of it.

“Relax, twelve,” the Smalljon ordered. He brought one of his big fingers to the messy gob of lube. He spread the lube generously, while coating his finger at the same time. Roose could see the boy physically relaxing, taking a deep breath, setting the tense muscles of his body at ease.

If he had been bruised when he came in, that would account for his disobedience. Roose suspected that he was not a bad slave, only that he had been treated poorly. He needed a good owner to set him straight, that was all, and if he passed this phase of processing that’s what he would get.

The Smalljon wasted no time. He gave a quick warning and stuffed one finger in. Roose watched it disappear smoothly. Considering how large his fingers were, this was impressive. Roose was pleased. “He’s tighter than he was before.” Smalljon murmured. “Not by much, but a little.” He glanced over his shoulder at Roose. “Would you like to feel?”

It was the possible virgin laying in wait behind him he was interested in feeling, not this one. Roose shook his head. “No, but I would like to know the extent of his bruising when you received him. Was he damaged internally?”

The Smalljon pulled his finger out enough to form a hook and tugged down on the boy’s hole, keeping him open. Just a little. With his free hand he shined the light inside before the gape of his hole slowly cinched closed. The slave was a healthy red internally, and Smalljon commented as much. Greatjon was busy pulling pictures from the slave’s file, handing them over. 

Roose surveyed the damage in the photos. The slave had come to them with a puckered purple hole, blood glistening in open fissures. It was nasty to look at. Even worse were the pictures taken peering into his body as it was held open by the prongs of a speculum. 

“He was damaged internally,” Greatjon affirmed, pointing to the pictures. “But nothing that trips major defect regulations and he’s healed now, aren’t you, twelve?”

“Yes,” Twelve muttered. His eyes were closed, one side of his face pressed to the examination table, a look of concern on his striking features.

“I’d like to see,” Roose said.

Greatjon and Smalljon nodded at each other. That was fair. “Alright, twelve. On the table,” Smalljon instructed. He gave the slave a small pat on the behind.

As the slave climbed into position, Smalljon circled around to a cabinet that sat against the wall. Inside were swabs and sample cups and more miniature bottles of lube, and a few other odds and ends needed for processing. On one shelf was a box, and in the box were items wrapped in sterilization plastic. Smalljon took one out and unwrapped it, revealing a plastic speculum. 

By the time he returned to the exam table the slave was already laying on his back with his knees tented and his heels planted on the metal of the table. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, conveying nervousness.

“No need to be scared,” Smalljon promised the slave. “You’re all healed now, we’ve taken good care of you. This won’t hurt nearly as much as last time.” As he spoke he squirted more lube on his fingers, and then some on the clear plastic speculum. He rubbed them both together, making sure everything was clearly coated.

The slave nodded to show he understood, but still seemed scared.

Roose was pleased with this response. He would rethink buying him if he did not face this part of processing with bravery. In the past he had decided against purchases for that very reason. 

The Smalljon explained that he was going to insert two fingers, and Roose circled around to watch. The slave did a second relaxing ritual, where Roose could actually see tightened muscles in his abs and legs let go. Even two fingers went in easily, and despite being called Smalljon, he did not have small fingers. The Slave breathed out, a soft sigh, and relaxed further as Smalljon began to scissor them gently, opening the boy up.

It wasn’t long until he swapped his fingers for the plastic speculum. The slave grunted, and pushed against it as it entered him. It met with a little resistance, but it slid in just the same. Roose watched the plastic disappear into the boy’s body, and when the widest part of the speculum was against the boy’s hole, Smalljon squeezed the handles and opened him up. The slave tossed his arm across his eyes, hiding his wincing face. With his free hand, Smalljon found his flashlight, and shined in it. True to what Greatjon had said, the boy was all but healed inside.

“Very good,” Roose said approvingly. He gave the slave a pat on the thigh. 

Roose saw him swallow again, and a muffled ‘thank you, ser’ came from where he was hiding his face in the crook of his arm.

“Would you like a swab?” Smalljon asked. Roose shook his head.

He unclenched the handles on the speculum and pulled it free, much to the slave’s relief.

The Smalljon went to record all of his findings on the ‘out processing’ page of the slave’s file. The Greatjon helped the slave down from the table and walked him back over towards the door to stand against the wall and wait for further instruction. He stood behind the other slave, the Greyjoy, who was now looking awfully pale.

If he had been trained as a companion, he might not have ever seen something like what had just happened. Companion slaves weren’t meant to be used for sex, in any capacity. That didn’t mean it didn’t happen, but Starks weren’t big on anything sexual so it was no wonder the slave seemed disturbed by watching another person be opened up and peered into. For everyone else in the room, this was typical.

“Feeling unwell?” Roose asked the boy. He had not been given a lot number, he didn’t know what to call the slave.

The Greyjoy only swallowed with uncertainty. His eyes darted towards the Greatjon, and then to the floor. He didn’t answer.

“It’s rude not to answer when you’ve been asked a question. I won’t allow such behavior if you’re to come into my care,” Roose told him plainly.

“Sorry, ser,” The Greyjoy replied.

Roose paused to give the boy a full once over, as the Greatjon found his file and opened it up to the proper out-processing page. Smalljon shed his latex gloves and found new ones, and he disposed of them just as he disposed of the plastic speculum. He sprayed down the examination table with disinfectant and wiped it clean. All the while, Roose stared at the slave before him.

He was great looking, truly. His face was narrow, and his cheekbones were high. His hair was his nicest feature. It was dark black, sleek and shiny, and it framed his face along with black eyebrows. Roose usually liked to shear his slave’s heads, and there was nothing half so satisfying as seeing long locks of hair slide away under the ministrations of an electric razor. Still. He might not shear this one, so long as he passed his out-processing procedure.

The slave had been standing in the shadows of his cage, and now Roose got to see all of him. Most importantly he got to see the boy’s cock. It was longer than he expected; nice and thick. Roose was curious about the feel of it. Like lot twelve next to him, the Greyjoy also had thick black pubic hair. Roose didn’t mind it. It framed his large cock just as well as his eyebrows famed his narrow face.

“Alright.” Smalljon interrupted the internal analysis going on in Roose’s mind. “You’re next, Theon.”

Theon. So that was what they called him. That must be his first name. A boy from a wealthy family would have a first and last name. Most slaves only knew numbers, and numbers changed from owner to owner. Theon. Roose rolled the name around in his head. He liked it well enough.

Theon hesitated, but stepped forward. He stood in front of the examination table looking serious, an expression of concern painting his features. It only seemed to deepen into fear as the seconds ticked on.

Like the last slave, Theon was made to open his mouth. They inspected his throat and teeth with the flash light. Smalljon looked in his ears, he listened to Theon’s heart and lungs, and even gave him a quick abdominal exam which was mostly poking and prodding that Theon seemed disconcerted by. Lot twelve had not received the same exam, but that was fine. Theon would be more expensive, and it was expected that his out processing inspection should be more extensive as well.

Smalljon moved on from the abdominal exam and lifted the slave’s long cock, showing it off. Theon was cut, so there was no foreskin to contend with. The Smalljon confirmed no diseases or abnormalities and checked for a hernia. The slave went along with that, though he was clearly embarrassed.

When he was finished Smalljon turned his head to Roose, and instead of asking he simply raised his eyebrows. Roose nodded. He took Theon’s cock in his hand and pressed his gloved palm against the soft underside of it. It was hefty, and warm. Roose weighed it curiously, before reaching for the boy’s balls to feel the whole of him. He approved. Still, he could not resist...

“Would you mind if I saw him erect?” He asked Smalljon and Greatjon, who both shook their heads no. They didn’t mind.

Theon’s ears turned red under his dark hair. Roose was close enough that he could see it. He released the boy’s ballsack, letting his testicals hang. He used his grip on the slave’s cock to stroke in quick, clinical pumping motions. Theon swallowed, and looked down in distress. He reached out, suddenly, for Roose’s wrist, as if to stop him. “Ser,” he whispered, confused.

Theon had likely never had an owner touching his cock before. He said he’d fucked girls but that probably meant slave girls. He had no doubt enjoyed his cock on his own, but had he ever felt a man’s touch? Probably not.

“Stiffen up, Theon,” Roose instructed.

With Roose’s hand working him like that, Theon had little choice. His hips bucked, just a little, and his cock grew hard under the attention and touch that he was receiving. When he was full, and erect, and when the pink head of his cock had turned a dusty red, Roose let go. Theon bit his lip.

“Big, aren’t you?” Roose noticed.

Smalljon laughed, and Theon’s blush crept across his neck and chest. His face remained pale.

Roose gave Theon’s hard cock a tap, pushing it to one side, and it sprung back into place, wobbling a little before settling. There were no unsightly veins, and Roose rather liked the size of it. For a personal slave, he had been looking for something smaller. He wasn’t interested in using the boy’s cock for much, in truth, but he wasn’t deterred by the length and size Theon had.

“Continue,” Roose said after admiring for a moment.

Smalljon gave the motion with his finger again, instructing Theon to turn around. Theon hesitated.

“Ser… I…” He looked to Smalljon, then Greatjon, and then down to the floor.

“I don’t want this to be as difficult as it was last time.” Smalljon cut him off, sounding dismayed at the disobedience.

Theon looked between the two Umbers again, full of uncertainty, and then he gave in and slowly turned around. He looked better from the front, Roose thought. His ass wasn’t especially impressive, and honestly Roose found it a little flat, but it wasn’t anything he could be mad at. The muscles of his back were still toned and fit and he looked good from this angle too.

Theon bent over the table, stiff and awkward. Smalljon had to help position his feet, showing him how to spread them the width of his shoulders. Roose only rarely came across a slave who didn’t know that position.

The Smalljon reached out and spread the boy’s cheeks for Roose to see. Theon was deliciously pink; his hole was a tight pucker, pinched up and closed. Roose nodded for them to continue. The smalljon found the same tube of lubricant he had used before and opened it again. He squirted a generous dob between Theon’s parted cheeks. Theon shuddered in response. His back arched up like a scared cat, and he clenched even tighter which Roose couldn’t have guessed was possible until he saw it happen.

“Roose, would you like to?” The Smalljon asked. “I’ve already felt him and come to the conclusion that he’s a virgin. The slave himself admitted to no training, and no anal sexual history. I could stuff one of my fat fingers in and find nothing, but I don’t want to stretch him out. His swab and visible tests were negative when we brought him in, and nothing has changed since he’s been here. I can check, if you’d like, but your word’s as sound as mine.”

Roose agreed. “I’ll have a feel.” He trained enough slaves to know what was irregular within them and what wasn’t. The most important question here was whether Theon really was a virgin or not. There was a tightness that came to untouched virgin holes that did not come often. He appreciated Smalljon’s integrity in trying to keep Theon’s hole as it was.

Roose took the lube from Smalljon, and he squeezed out a good amount on his first finger of his right hand. He spread it using his thumb, and when he was satisfied, he stepped up to where Theon was bent over the table.

“Take a deep breath.” He instructed. Theon took a shaky breath instead. He lined up his lubricated finger, gently pressing it against the tightened knot of muscle that was the slave’s entrance. “Bear down, Theon.”

Theon managed. Barely. Roose could just slightly see the oscillation of his tight hole opening, a small amount. He took advantage of the opportunity and slid his finger inside. Theon went rigid, and then after a moment he made a muffled noise in pain.

He was just as tight inside as Roose thought he would be. The slave’s internal walls clung to him, desperate, suckling against his finger. He was warm, and tight, and perfect. Roose had no difficulty imagining his own thick cock pressed deep inside Theon’s virgin ass. He wanted it. He wanted to take this boy home and fuck him raw.

“Good,” Roose murmured. His voice gave no indication as to his desires. “Give me a tight squeeze.” Roose could feel the results of his request, and the tightness closing around his finger. He could scarcely believe it. “Good, Theon. You’ve done well.” He pulled his finger free, much to Theon’s relief.

“Are you… are you gonna stuff plastic in me?” The boy asked in horror, unable to help the fear that bubbled up in his voice and forced the question out.

Roose nearly laughed. He gave Theon’s behind a gentle pat. “And stretch you out? Certainly not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment if you feel so inclined! or send me an ask at [frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) and we can chat about the #ThrooseSlavefic together!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow ok lets dive right in! tags have been updated!
> 
> of course i have to say thank you to my amazing beta subwaywolf. did u know the definition of amazing is "causing great surprise or wonder; astonishing" or "startlingly impressive"? i always call subwaywolf amazing, but now i'm a little embarrassed because he is so much more than astonishing and startlingly impressive. he transcends awe. and if you think i'm just buttering him up yall should have seen this fic before he helped proof-read it. transcending awe is putting it lightly. thank you subwaywolf, for everything.

“This is the Dreadfort, isn’t it?” Lot twelve blinked blearily at the walls that surrounded them, cinderblocks painted with a thick white coating. He laughed an incredulous sort of laugh and shook his head.

Roose didn’t care for the boy speaking out of turn, but since it was likely his last opportunity to do so without punishment, he let it slide. “This is a training facility. It has no name.” 

The slaves and some of the trainers called it the Dreadfort, some curious little nickname they invented all on their own, for as long as Roose could remember. He didn’t mind the term. If it struck dread into the hearts of raw slaves, that was just fine with him. He made little attempt to divest the training facility of the reputation.

“My owners used to threaten to send me to this place,” lot twelve said. “When I was bad. They told me they’d send me here, and now here I am.”

Roose lifted his head from the papers before him, surveying lot twelve for a moment. Both he and Theon Greyjoy were standing before his desk. They had been hooded for the lengthy ride from the Greatjon’s kennels to their new homes, and both of them had messy hair from the black hoods. 

Roose himself had taken their collars off, so they were utterly naked. Lot twelve wore his nudity proudly. Theon, less so. He was supposed to be standing with his arms behind his back but instead he was covering himself casually as if Roose would not notice.

“It’s a shame they didn’t send you to me,” Roose said softly, turning his attention to lot twelve and away from Theon’s poor posture. “I’d have treated you better than they did.” He lifted the paper he’d been working on from the desk and held it out. “Go and take this to the trainer outside and tell him that these are your orders.”

Lot twelve reached out and took the paper. He didn’t bother to glance at it. Roose expected he could not read. The slave hesitated and considered speaking again, but the look on Roose’s face gave him the inclination not to so he turned and walked away. He left the office, closing the door behind him as he went.

Roose wouldn’t see lot twelve again for a while, unless there was an incident. He would be given a new number to be called, a bed to sleep in, and a rigorous training schedule to keep him busy. He would do well here. He would not be abused the way he had in the past. That was not to say he wouldn’t endure pain or punishment, but the pain and punishment would be with cause and within reason. He had the makings of a slave who would enjoy a life of sex, Roose could tell. He allowed a moment to be internally pleased with his new purchase before he went back to work. He turned to his computer and began to compose an email.

Theon lasted a good ten minutes, almost eleven, before the quiet compounded on him and he felt the need to break it. “Ser?” He said quietly. He swallowed, just as loudly as he had spoken, and then seemed embarrassed that he’d said anything at all. “Ah. Will I get my orders, too?” 

Roose did not even bother to glance away from his screen. “Why aren’t your arms crossed behind your back, Theon?” he asked.

Theon hesitated a moment and then moved to put his his hands behind his back. Roose could tell they weren’t in the right position. He could only see Theon out of the corner of his eye, and all he had to go on was the angle of his arms, but he could tell.

“Crossed at your wrist, boy,” Roose corrected him. “Do you need help?”

Theon’s ears turned red. His arms shifted. Roose could not see what was going on behind his back, but he could tell from the position of the slave’s arms that he’d fixed his mistake.

“Sorry, ser.” Theon apologized.

Roose paused in what he was typing and looked at the boy. “Let me make one thing very clear, Theon. When I give you an order, I expect you to follow it. Any failure to do so will be met with punishment. Your next order is to stay silent, and to only speak when you’ve been spoken to. Can you manage that, or will I have to gag you?”

Theon’s expression said more than any words could. He looked out of countenance and seemed shaken. He almost opened his mouth to respond but seemed to think even that was a wrong move, so he nodded instead. Roose had no problem with that. He went back to work.

Theon started off staring quietly at the floor, but grew distracted and ended up looking all around the office after a while. He tried not to move, but his curious eyes wandered everywhere. As big as it was, there wasn’t much to see. Roose kept the place tidy and neat and due to efficiency he filled it with only the bare minimum. 

The biggest items filling the room were his desk and two red leather armchairs. Theon stood the gap between the two, not allowed to sit. He wouldn’t be allowed on any furniture unless under express permission. There was a large window behind Roose, with a ledge big enough that it could be called a window seat but there was no cushion there to sit on. 

The window overlooked a manicured lawn that met a thrush of woods that the training facility was nestled in. The facility only had two stories, not counting the basement and sub basement, and Roose’s office was on the first floor so it wasn’t much of a view. It was no wonder Theon’s eyes continued to wander from it. 

As he grew bored, and as more and more time passed, he began to shift his weight from foot to foot as if his feet were tired. Roose had a hard time believing that; he’d only been standing there a few hours.

After a while there was a knock on the door, which gave Theon a start.

Roose did not say anything. He disliked raising his voice, and it was unlikely anyone out in the hall would hear him anyhow. His policy was that as long as someone knocked they were welcome to come in. If the door was locked, they would need to send a message requesting Roose’s time and he would get back to them. It was a very simple system and it worked.

After a beat, the door open and a trainer entered Roose’s office. There was a slave behind him, naked except for a bright red collar clasped around his neck. His face, eyes, and the bare of his ass matched the color. He’d been crying. Roose didn’t waste a second looking at him.

“What’s this?” He asked the trainer instead.

“Request to take Slave 67892 off grounds for a medical assessment,” the trainer said. 

Trainers were employees of Roose’s. They were hand-picked, and they went through different types of education and certification. It was hard to get a position as trainer here at Roose’s facility. There was a time when Roose hand trained slaves himself, and after that he hand trained trainers. Now he sat at a desk and oversaw the lot of them. It could be worse.

The slave’s chest heaved, and he blinked back tears.

“What happened to him?” Roose asked.

"He failed to maintain position during a punishment. I had to grapple with him to get him to comply and now he’s claimed his rib is broken.” The trainer informed dutifully.

Roose considered. “Permission denied.” He slid the form back.

Theon gasped in surprise, and the slave sobbed.

“Please, ser,” 67892 begged, collapsing down on to his knees. He folded his hands in prayer and offered them up to Roose. “Hurts to breathe, ser. I’m begging. I’m begging.”

That he was, quite loud and annoyingly.

Roose ignored the pleas entirely. He expected the slave was not solely at fault, and that 67892's trainer had been too forceful and rough with him. If they were spending their time physically wrestling with each other instead of training and being trained properly then obviously there was something amiss. Roose recalled the name of the trainer and made a note to himself to look into the man, to ensure that he was doing his job properly. “I'd like him reassigned to a different trainer. See that he resumes training tomorrow.”

“That’s illegal,” Theon said, suddenly.

Both Roose and the trainer looked over at Theon. The boy shrank away from the sudden attention, but if he didn’t want it he shouldn’t have spoken. He seemed to know, all at once, that he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Tell me, Theon, are you licensed and certified in all the laws and practices required to train and sell sex slaves?” Roose asked the boy, speaking slowly and carefully.

Theon swallowed. “No, ser,” he said, but his voice had abandoned him and his words were a whisper.

“I am,” Roose told him. He pulled open a desk drawer and produced the certificate. He placed it on his desk, facing out for the boy to see. If the Starks had trained him, it was likely that he could read. Theon blushed bright red at the sight of it and lowered his eyes. “I believe I know precisely what is in fact legal and illegal.” 

Roose glanced at the trainer in the room with him. “Was this slave taken to our medical wing and seen to by our medical staff?” he asked.

“He was,” the trainer informed.

Roose returned his stare to Theon, who was clearly regretting having spoken. “Then he’s been treated. Under the laws regarding care and negligence I’ve complied with what’s necessary. It could be that he’s broken a bone, but there is very little a medical professional outside of our medical staff could do that we can’t. The trip offsite is a waste of time and money. I’m sure you know all about that, don’t you boy? You’re likely as informed about running a business as you are the legality of owning slaves.”

“…m sorry, ser.” Theon mumbled.

“Are you?” Roose questioned, sounding surprised. “If not, you’re going to be. You’ve disobeyed direct orders not to speak, and you’ve questioned your owner in front of others.” Roose glanced to the trainer again. “What punishment was this slave failing to maintain position for?”

"67892 was caught in an area off limits to slaves, and then caught lying about his whereabouts. I was using a paddle on him, fifty swats for lying and sixty for being out of area." The handler informed.

Roose nodded. He could not recall ever hearing 67892's number before, so it was likely this was an isolated incident and that this slave was not a bad one. The punishment seemed harsh but fair. He was a collared slave, after all. He should have known better. "Bring that paddle to me, and take 67892 to reassignment and back to his cage."

The handler nodded. He helped 67892 up and back onto his feet. The slave was still crying, tears streaming down his face, but he went limping after his handler. Roose caught a glimpse of the slave from behind and the damage of the paddle was clear. His ass was cherry red, purpling in places. He supposed they had not made it very far through the punishment or he would be black and blue instead of red and purple.

As soon as the door to his office was closed, and they were alone again, Roose let out a sigh. "You disappointed me, Theon," he said.

Theon hung his head.

"I don't want to paddle you, but you've given me no option. The Starks kept you as their companion for years, and the fact that you don't know better than this is astounding to me. Your behavior must improve, because it will not be tolerated in the future. I assure you."

Theon nodded. "Yes, ser," he said. He had been properly put in his place, no more outbursts. Still, a good paddling would help remind him to behave.

"You're not a companion anymore, you're a sex slave. No one is interested in hearing you speak or what you have to say. Do you understand?"

Theon swallowed, and his voice went flat, determined not to show how much those words had hurt him. "Yes, ser," he said again.

Roose nodded. He picked up his certificate from the desk and put it back in the drawer. He closed what he was working on on his desktop and he stood. He circled around to where Theon was standing and he grabbed the boy by the back of his neck. "Bend over the desk," Roose instructed.

Theon did not comply readily, which was a problem, so Roose gave him a hard shove and sent the boy stumbling. He stuck his hands out to catch himself against the edge of Roose's desk, and Roose gave the back of the boy's neck a squeeze.

"Keep your hands behind your back until you've been ordered otherwise," Roose scolded him immediately.

Theon made a defeated noise, frustrated with the situation. It was almost as though he couldn’t do anything right. He pressed his face to the wood of the desk, leaning fully against it, and he returned his hands to their position behind his back, one wrist crossed over the other.

“Ten swats for your outburst and ten for your insolence. Five for failure to keep your hands behind your back.” Roose informed him.

Roose thought to himself, not for the first time, that Theon’s face might be the best part about him. Looking at him from behind was only slightly improved by him being bent over. 

Roose was thinking this not only because it was his preference, but because twenty-five swats from a paddle would go a little easier if Theon had some cushioning. He didn’t. Lucky for him, Roose was going easy with the punishment. It was Theon’s first day, after all. If this were his third or fourth week into training, he’d be getting twice as many swats for his offences.

Roose reached out, running the palm of his hand over the curve of Theon’s ass. “Do you understand?” he asked.

“Yes, ser,” Theon said, sounding sullen. Roose didn’t care for the tone.

“I’m being gentle with you, Theon. Disappoint me again and you’ll be receiving much worse than this.”

Just as Roose had finished speaking, there was another knock on the door. It was the same trainer from before, and he let himself in. He didn’t have a sobbing slave in his wake this time. 67892 was likely down in reassignment getting a new trainer and a new training schedule to accommodate his injury. He would have the whole day off to rest and recover, which was more than most slaves got for sneaking into places they weren’t allowed to be.

Theon seemed to glow red at the inclusion of another person in the office. Pink flushed down his neck and freckled in splotches on his back and shoulders. It seemed that he was embarrassed to be caught with his face down and his ass on display. He would get used to that. Roose enjoyed the sight of the boy’s earnest blushing while he could, a little saddened by the thought that it was fleeting and wouldn’t be lasting much longer.

“Ser.” The trainer offered the paddle for Roose to take. It was half an inch thick of hard wood with holes drilled in neat lines down the middle. The color of the wood was white, and it had been recently wiped clean.

“Thank you,” Roose said politely, taking the paddle. He gave the trainer a nod, and the trainer saw himself right back out.

Theon must not have been able to see the paddle until Roose stepped closer to the desk, brandishing the light colored wood in his hands. The slave’s eyes widened in surprise, and the severity of what was happening seemed to hit him. Thankfully, he did not speak. He would have received extra swats for that, and the slave was already in deep enough.

Roose reached out for Theon’s behind again, touching softly. Theon jumped. “I’ll count out loud, but in future punishments you may be asked to count. Behave, and take your punishment well.”

Theon was too frightened to reply to that, and did not say ‘yes, ser’ in reply, but that was fine because Roose didn’t require it of him.

Roose got a good grip on the paddle. It had been a long time since he had delivered a punishment himself. He had missed the feel of a wooden handle in his fingers. He lined up and delivered the first swat, hard and fast. Theon cried out softly and pink blossomed out over his ass cheeks. 

“One.” Roose said softly, his voice impossibly quiet compared to the loud smack of wood meeting flesh. 

He hit Theon with the paddle again. “Two.” 

And again. “Three.”

Theon’s body responded each and every time, tensing up in fear just before the blow and jerking in response to the pain of the paddle hitting him. His hands were curled into fists, but they remained crossed at the wrist, perfectly in place. After Roose reached five, he switched sides and landed another five swats to Theon’s reddening ass at a different angle. 

By the eleventh swat, Theon began to cry. Hot tears welled up in his eyes and slid down his nose, dropping down to Roose’s desk. Roose wouldn’t have been able tell that the boy was crying if it weren’t for the small sniffles he heard between swats. Roose expected it was most likely from the raw pain, constant and continuous, than anything else. 

Roose did not take long stops, he did not stall, he did not leave Theon in the dark and waiting for when the next blow would be. Roose was a fan of this technique in punishments, but he would save it for another time. Theon needed to learn that pain awaited him for misbehavior, and so Roose delivered pain. One swat after another after another after another until he finally reached twenty five.

When he was finished counting, he reached out one last time and slid his palm over Theon’s bare behind. The flesh was hot beneath his fingers. It was bright pink in places, dusky red in others, purpling where the paddle had struck home the hardest. Theon cried in pain at the touch, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Well done, Theon.” Roose complimented him. “You took that better than I expected.”

“Thank you, ser,” Theon said, determined not to let this break him any. He was crying, yes, but he remained strong.

“Stand up, back into position.” Roose reached out to help steady Theon as he got back onto his own two feet after leaning over the desk. The slave winced in pain as he moved and put his hands directly behind his back, crossed at the wrist, as soon as he was standing rightly again.

Roose nodded. “Good. Remain standing and silent until ordered otherwise.” 

Theon swallowed and nodded. There were tear marks, wet and shining, lining his face. There was one big tear hanging from his chin. Roose lifted the curve of his finger to wipe it away. He went back to his desk then, sat down, and went back to work. 

Theon sniffled for a little while longer, but he’d stopped crying. Every once in a while the lingering stinging pain of his punishment became too much, and his blue eyes welled up with tears, but he blinked them away.

Roose was pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you'd like! or send me an ask at [frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) and we can chat about the #ThrooseSlavefic together!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tags have been updated again so be sure to give them a glance! nothing too intense this chapter, just a peek at what domestic life as Roose's slave will be like! oo fun (for us haha probably not for theon)
> 
> and of course i need to thank my beautiful wolf friend, subwaywolf. thank you. without you i would have never finished a storm of swords, and i never would have gotten to any reek chapters. my adoration for the boltons was seeded with you, and without you who knows what kind of garbage fanfic i would be writing instead of this. thank you so much for having good taste, and sharing it with me. oh, and for reading NINETY. FUCKING. THOUSAND. WORDS. and editing this giant fic. that was pretty awesome of you.

Theon’s second car ride for the day was a lot tougher than the first.

Lot twelve and he had been hooded and placed in back for the long journey from the Greatjon’s kennels to the training facility. Roose was pretty sure lot twelve had slept the whole way, and he was fairly certain Theon had dozed off as well. Under the black hoods that had covered their faces, it was hard to tell.

The ride from the training facility to Roose’s home was different. There was no need for hoods this time, his house was located within the grounds of the facility on a back road that cut through the woods. It was less than five minutes in the car, but those five minutes had been agony for Theon who was forced to sit on his freshly paddled ass. 

He chewed his bottom lip, and his eyebrows twisted into a mean scowl, and he winced in pain at every bump in the road. Most slaves were not allowed in the front seat of a vehicle. It wasn’t entirely unheard of, just relatively uncommon. Roose didn’t want to fuss with putting Theon in the back, though, so the slave sat next to him. Roose had a clear view of the boy’s struggles.

Theon seemed glad to climb out of the car, though he grimaced with every step. He was following after Roose, not even knowing where he was going, and it took him a moment to lift his head and see where he was. His jaw fell slack at the sight of Roose’s home, a sprawling three story Victorian treasure hidden away in the woods. Pines and tall cedars left little room for a yard, and the house stood tall amongst the trees.

“This is your new home,” Roose informed. “You’ll be spending all your time at my side, so you’ll be seeing the inside of my office most of all, but at night you’ll come home with me.”

He lead the way up the walk, up the few steps of the front porch, and through the front door. Theon stayed two steps behind him at all times. He must have learned that from the Starks. As a companion he would need to stay behind those he was serving, and as a sex slave he would need to do the same thing. “Good,” Roose complimented him as he unlocked the front door.

Theon blinked. “Ser?”

“Your pace.”

Roose thought he saw the corner of the boy’s mouth lift, just a little, but he was likely mistaken. He pushed open the door and reached around to place a hand on Theon’s shoulder. He ushered the boy inside first, showing that he was allowed by physically leading him with touch. As soon as Roose pulled his hand away, Theon stopped walking and waited. Good. The Starks managed to teach him this, at least. He wasn’t utterly hopeless then; he had some obedience and training in him. 

If the house seemed large on the outside, it was just as big inside. The floors were hard wood with molding to match. There was an air to the house that made it feel as though it had seen families raised and lives lived. Despite that feeling, it was decorated and furnished too neatly to be any family home. It could pass for a model house, it was so pristine and clean and impressively impersonal. There was a grand foyer, a long hallway that opened up to a living room, a large staircase that went up and up, a kitchen, a dining room, a kitchen table. There were so many doors that Theon couldn’t even guess what was behind them, and that was just the first floor.

“Your home is beautiful,” Theon murmured, quietly. He flinched then, suddenly realizing he hadn’t been spoken to.

“Only speak when spoken to,” Roose reminded him gently. Things would be more lax at home, away from others. Besides, it was a compliment. “But thank you, Theon.”

Just then the boy’s stomach growled. He’d been taken from the kennels early that morning, and he had spent the whole day either in the car or presiding over Roose’s desk. He hadn’t had much to eat. Roose decided they would work on that first. He lead the way into the kitchen, and Theon followed. The slave’s eyes were opened wide, and he peered at everything as they walked, trying to get a good grasp on his surroundings.

Roose had groceries delivered on Sundays. He didn’t like inviting anyone into his home when he wasn’t there, and he didn’t want to leave perishable items on the front porch. He worked on every other day, but on Sundays he had off and so that was usually when he was home. Unfortunately for Theon, it was a Saturday, and so the pantry was looking a little bare.

Roose found an apple and tossed it to the boy. Theon just barely caught it. He stared at it for a moment before he looked at Roose again, as if waiting for implicit instruction to eat. Roose was already making himself busy, pulling out supplies to make a better balanced dinner than simply an apple. He didn’t want the boy losing his lean body, after all. Theon took a hungry bite, and made quick work of the fruit. He stood back and stayed out of the way, watching as Roose put more food together.

Roose minced garlic and gingerroot. He mixed both together in a bowl with different sauces and a few pinches of other spices. The kitchen filled with the scent of cooking, delicious enough to make Theon’s stomach growl loudly even though he was actively eating something. Roose also cut up some vegetables, broccoli, zucchini, onions and peppers and started to stir-fry them. Theon had finished the apple in the time it took for Roose to do all this, and moved to stand with his wrists crossed behind his back.

“Allergies?” Roose asked so softly Theon wasn’t sure he had spoken at first. Roose could not remember seeing any food restrictions in Theon’s file, but then again there wasn’t much in Theon’s file at all.

“Not to food, ser.” Theon said. “Some kind of uhm… medicine.” He shrugged, and couldn’t remember the name.

Roose turned abruptly to look at him, staring hard at the boy. That was important.

“It’s just like… stuff they give to kids for ear infections.” Theon said quickly, realizing that Roose wasn’t taking this as lightly as he was. “And uh, they put it in med kits for soldiers. Or they used to… it’s… like a powder to pour on wounds…” The boy barely knew what he was talking about. He hadn’t been raised with a formal education. He might have been taught well about a great many things, especially if he was in the care of the insufferable Ned Stark who valued education in slaves, but Theon wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. Couldn’t even come up with the name of a common medicine.

“Sulfa,” Roose told him.

Theon nodded, and lowered his head a little. “Yes, ser.”

Roose held out his hand. Theon’s face twisted with confusion. 

“The apple, boy.” Roose said. The slave handed the core over, and Roose tossed it out. He knew. He didn’t have to watch Theon the entire time to know he’d eaten it and then taken to holding it when he wasn’t sure what else to do. The sooner Theon realized just how much Roose knew and how little he knew in comparison, the better this would go for him.

When he was done tossing the apple away, Roose went back to preparing dinner.

Theon seemed to be unsure about the conversation they had just had; the unease was rolling off of him in waves. Good, Roose thought. It was better that he felt unsure of every conversation they had, because then he would be less inclined to start them. They stayed silent as Roose continued preparing dinner, and Roose quite liked that.

One of the biggest things that had made him uncertain about owning a personal slave was the fact that Roose quite liked his solitude. He spent all day with trainers and slaves and sellers and buyers, going in and out of kennels, or show floors, or training floors, or auction floors. His home was where he went for peace, quiet, and solitude. He’d gotten more than ever now that the house was empty and Domeric, and Ramsay, and everyone who’d ever once lived or stayed here was now gone. Roose would never have solitude again as long as Theon was around, though. 

It was a daunting concept, but one he was ready to accept. Theon would be exhausting to care for. He would have to be watched constantly, and training him was going to take more time and effort than Roose wanted to think about. Still. He wanted this. He wanted to try, at least. He could always sell the boy back if he didn’t work out. 

When the food was ready, Roose plated a single dish and he took the plate and one set of silverware over to the kitchen table. Theon tried to hide his disappointment, but he did such a poor job of it that Roose was quite amused.

Roose sat at the table, and motioned to the floor. “Come kneel.” He commanded, pointing to the empty space on the floor beside his chair. Theon did as he was told, wincing a little as he got into position. He should be lucky that Roose hadn’t told him to sit.

Roose speared a piece of broccoli onto a fork and raised it, letting the steam rise. After a moment to cool off, he brought it down for the slave to eat. Theon wasn’t sure what was happening at first. Companions were trained to have perfect table manners, not to be hand fed. He leaned back in surprise, and stared at the forkful of food. He glanced up at Roose who had little expression on his face at all.

“Ser…” Theon tried to say, and perhaps he was going to finished that thought with the words ‘I can feed myself’, but Roose stuffed the food into his mouth the minute he saw the boy’s lips part. When he pulled it back out again, the fork was clean. Roose reached out to clasp the boy’s jaw in his palm.

“Behave,” Roose scolded him. “If you want to be fed, you’ll eat what’s given to you however it’s given to you. Do you understand?” Roose let the boy’s face go, and Theon nodded solemnly. He chewed his food, swallowed, and lowered his eyes as a sign of respect. Roose was pleased with that. The Starks had broken him in well. Theon had a lot of training still, but it was little things like those lowered eyes that showed Roose just how submissive the boy had been taught to be.

Dinner continued a little smoother after Theon realized he had no choice in this. Roose ate as well, and between bites he would lift warm forkfuls to Theon’s mouth. The boy opened up when he saw the fork draw near. Roose quite liked a slave who kept their mouth open and waiting at all times. They would work on that during their next meal. It was likely that Theon was just feeling shy. With more practice, he would perform better.

When they were finished, and the both of them were full, Roose stood to take the plate to the sink. Theon stared up at him, unsure what to do. “Stay,” Roose told him, feeling the boy’s eyes on him. He went to the sink to clean the plate. He ran the pan under the faucet and loaded everything into the dishwasher. He cleaned up all the mess he’d made, wiped down the counters, and allowed himself to be satisfied with the accomplishment of cleaning everything back to its pristine condition.

After the moment passed, Roose found a clean dishrag and wet it in the sink. He went back to the kitchen table where Theon was still kneeling. “Let me see your face, boy.” Roose ordered.

Theon tipped his head back, and he was met with the wet washcloth. Neither of them had gotten particularly messy while eating, but Roose gave the slave’s face a good scrub anyway. Theon’s expression pinched up, that Roose could see, and he made a small muffled noise but he let it happen.

Roose sighed and assessed the slave’s face after he was finished. “We should get you clean,” he decided. He did not look forward to scrubbing Theon down in the tub, but it had to happen. He had likely seen a few showers while staying in the Greatjon’s kennels, but cold ones with lye soap and a quick scrubbing that lasted less than five minutes. Theon didn’t look dirty, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use some hot water and some attention.

“Ser?” Theon didn’t quite understand.

“Up,” Roose ordered him, and the slave got to his feet.

Roose lead the way up the large staircase to the second floor. The second floor was also all hard wood with matching molding and empty wall space. It consisted of a long hallway, and closed door after closed door after closed door. At the end of the hall, there was another set of stairs layering directly over the first staircase, leading to a third floor. Roose ignored everything else and took Theon to the first door at the top. 

The rest of the house was unused and empty, and there was nothing to see. There was a time when these halls were filled with more than silence. Domeric had been studying music before he died. He played piano and harp and wanted to learn the violin next. Sometimes Roose missed the sound of music. Ramsay had made his own sorts of noises when he moved in as well, but none of them were as calming to listen to as Domeric’s. That had been so long ago though, Roose had all but forgotten the sounds of music coming from down the hall. 

Farther back in the past there were slaves that he’d taken home with him to watch and train or care for before the medical wing in his training facility had been fully completed and decently staffed. That hadn’t been as welcoming as Domeric, but the sounds of slaves living and breathing in a house with him had their own charm. Roose had taken a slave named Damon home from the facility a few months ago, a somewhat uncalculated endeavor that ended when Ramsay left. Now the entire place was empty. Quiet and empty. 

There was one room that did appear used, though. The door at the top of the stairs lead into the master bedroom. Roose opened it and Theon stopped in his tracks at the sight of it. It was huge. The bed alone was big enough to fit four people, and the floor space left so much room that Roose could have fit two beds of the same size in there and still have space, if he wanted to.

There were windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor, and dark red curtains pinned to the sides of them. The view opened up to the woods that surrounded the house, and it was mostly trees but Theon was still impressed.

If everywhere else in the house was empty, Roose’s room showed off his personality best. Though that wasn’t saying much, because the room was still relatively bare. He had a book shelf on one side of the bed and it was stacked with books. On the other side of the bed was a table and lamp. There was a desk tucked against one wall as well. All of these things were made of an impressive red wood. Everything was red. The bedspread was red and the pillows were red. The carpet was a curiously feminine salmon color that shouldn’t suit Roose at all, but it worked. Altogether, it worked.

“This room is beautiful, ser,” Theon said, and he knew he was using the same word he had used earlier, but it was true.

Roose stopped for a moment for glance around at the room, as if seeing it for the first time. “Don’t speak unless spoken to,” he reminded Theon, nodding him along “This way.” On the other side of the door there was another doorway leading to an adjacent bathroom. It was equally as impressive. There was a large shower, a big tub, a counter with two sinks, a closet, a toilet, and still room for more. If the bedroom was painted all in red, the bathroom was pure white and it was almost a shock in comparison. Theon blinked at how bright it was.

Roose opened the closet door, revealing neatly folded towels, and he tossed the wet washcloth from earlier into the hamper at the bottom of the closet. He closed the closet door and went to the tub; he immediately turned on the faucet. He wasted no time speaking or explaining. He simply started to work. It would take a while for the bath to fill on account of how large it was, but as they waited to found soap and shampoo and a fresh washcloth to set beside to tub for when it was ready.

“Theon,” Roose said, over the sound of water.

Theon, who had been looking around at everything, turned his attention to his owner.

Roose did not adhere to a strict set of rules. He gave new commands as necessary instead. He found that there were usually exceptions to everything, and coming up with a list was silly. Still, he supposed there were things he should make the slave aware of, going forward. “You’re not allowed in this room unless you’ve been given permission, do you understand?”

“I… have to ask permission to use the bathroom?” Theon asked.

Roose nodded. He could tell that Theon didn’t like that, but it wasn’t about what he liked. It was about what Roose liked. “This is the only place you’ll be allowed to go alone. If you give me any cause to regret allowing you solitude, I will be accompanying you to the bathroom instead. Do you understand?”

Theon blushed a little. He glanced around at the bathroom again, taking it all in. His only opportunity to be alone would be here. Here. The idea seemed to strike something in him, and he seemed sad for a moment before he nodded. “Yes, ser,” he said.

“Good.” Roose nodded to the tub. It was half full. “Climb in.”

Theon obeyed. He was quicker about obeying things he did not have an aversion to. He would learn to obey every command with speed whether he wanted to or not, but this was a good start. He climbed over the side of the tub, and the water was up the his calves. He looked at Roose for a moment, and when Roose nodded he moved to sit. He followed through rather swiftly until the warm water hit the chapped skin of his ass, already red hot from the paddling he’d received that day, and Theon bolted upright.

“Theon.” Roose scolded him in a quiet voice. “Sit.”

“Ser…” Theon tried to say, but as soon as he said the word he knew he shouldn’t have. The look on Roose’s face was enough to make him cast his eyes downward. He eased himself back down again, and closed his eyes tight. It took a deep breath, and some bravery, but he sank his poor abused behind into the hot water inch by merciless inch. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Roose didn’t mind the language. He quite liked hearing a slave swear in pain. It was considered bad form, but so long as no one else heard Roose did not care. “Make sure I am the only one who ever hears you use such words,” Roose warned him.

Theon was too distraught with his suffering to even nod at that. He was white knuckled, and his eyes were closed still. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Roose let Theon adjust to the temperature of the water. It took a while, and the slave never stopped looking miserable, but he leaned back and relaxed eventually. By then the water was up to his ribs, and while the tub still wasn’t full Roose decided to turn the faucet off. This would be good enough. Roose handed the boy some soap. “Start with your face while the water is cleanest. Then your arms and legs.”

Theon did as he was told. Roose supervised. The slave did not seem self-conscious at first, he simply soaped himself up and scrubbed himself clean. He did shy, a little, as Roose watched him soap his underarms. He must have felt especially silly rubbing the soap into his belly in front of his new owner, because that’s when the blush started in his ears. 

Theon did a poor job reaching his back, so Roose stepped in to help him. He divested the boy of the bar of soap and scrubbed it into his shoulder blades and down his spine. He helped give a good scrub with the cloth as well before Theon leaned back and rinsed the suds in the water. The bath had turned foamy and white by then from the soap, but Roose was pleased to see that instead of it turning brown with dirt.

Progress halted then. There were only a few places left that needed cleaning, but Theon did not move to clean any of them on his own. “Up, on your knees boy.” Roose ordered him.

Theon swallowed, but complied. The water was nearly up to his waist in that position, but not quite. At a loss for what to do, the slave crossed his wrists behind his back. He would have glanced down, but then he’d be met with the thing that needed cleaning next, and so he glanced away instead; off to the side.

Roose was not so coy. He started below the boy's navel and ran the bar of soap over where the line of hair on his stomach began. He went lower and lower, following the trail, until he was scrubbing suds into the thick black hair that surrounded Theon's cock.

"Have you ever been shaved clean?" Roose asked him.

Theon was blushing red at the question. "No, ser," he admitted. Slick enough with slave girls to have fucked a few of them but under the careful questioning of a male owner and Theon is blushing like mad. How curious.

Roose considered the answer to his question. That was for the best. He liked hair on slaves and thought it suited them. Most other slave owners disagreed. The slaves he trained could be customized to come with or without, provided they had not been lasered by previous owners. If Theon preferred being hairless, Roose might have considered getting the hair removed, but so long as he hadn't experienced it Roose would not even bother subjecting the boy to it.

Roose took Theon's cock in his hands then, wet and dripping with water, and gently rubbed soap into the soft skin. Theon responded but not very much. Any excitement was quickly cut into by Roose grabbing the boy's wet balls and soaping them next. Theon made a noise of surprise, but Roose was gentle with him.

"Spread your thighs, boy," Roose ordered.

Theon obeyed, but just barely.

"Wider," Roose scolded him.

The slave made a noise in pain as the shift in position sank him a little deeper into the water. The half of his ass that had met the relief of cool air was burning again and he groaned. The tail end of his groan went a little higher when Roose reached under the water and between the boy's legs, rubbing soap against the soft strip of skin just behind Theon's balls. He slid the bar of soap back further, towards the crack of Theon's ass and the slave hissed in pain as Roose's knuckles brushed over the chapped skin of where he’d been paddled.

There was an easier way to do this though. Half of Roose's arm was plunged into the bath water, getting wet. It didn't need to be. He pulled his hand back, dripping. "Come here boy, come rest your chin on my shoulder," Roose ordered.

Theon seemed uncertain, but he crawled forward on his knees to the edge of the tub. With his hands still behind his back he leaned forward, an exercise of his abdomen, until his cheek found Roose's shoulder. He laid his head down there, using Roose for stability.

"Good," Roose said, reaching around with the soap to rub suds into the slave's tailbone and down the split of his cheeks.

Theon gasped and cried out in pain as the soap stung into the raw, paddled skin. His hands flew out to grasp for Roose's shirt. Had Roose ordered Theon to put his hands behind his back, he would have scolded the boy and likely given him a slap on the ass for this change in position. Theon had put his hands back there all on his own, though, so Roose let it happen.

"It's polite to stay in a position once you've taken it." Roose told him, as the slave cringed in pain, body trembling. Roose slid the bar of soap deeper down, hand and wrist brushing over the bright colored bruises he had made with the paddle earlier that day. Theon's fingers clenched harder in his shirt. Roose would be all wet by the time they were done. "Try harder in the future. If you want to impress me, that's one way to do it."

"Ser," Theon buried his face in the crook of Roose's neck. "Fuck, it hurts."

"I bet it does." Roose told him. "Remember this the next time you want to misbehave. Punishments are more than just the swats or lashes you receive."

Theon nodded in understanding.

Roose put the soap aside and wet his hand in the water. He slid it through the suds between the slave's cheeks, ensuring everything was clean. His fingers lingered, finding the pinch of Theon's entrance, tight as ever. The slave was in too much pain to respond to that, but Roose could see the blush creeping down the boy's shoulders.

"Sore?" Roose asked him.

Theon groaned, a sort of affirmative noise. His out processing inspection had been nothing, really, but virgin holes were awfully sensitive. Maybe his hole hurt from the finger Roose had pushed into it, but the slave was more likely sore from that paddling than anything else.

Roose wet his fingers in the water again and repeated the action of sliding them down Theon's ass cheeks, rinsing away the suds. This was easier on the slave than a wash cloth. Roose was not entirely interested in taking it easy on his new slave, but Theon's day had been rough enough. New owner, new home, first punishment, first feeding, first bath. Besides, Roose liked using his hands.

"Sit back down, boy." Roose said, after he was satisfied with Theon’s behind.

Theon pulled his face back, looking appropriately upset with the order.

"Sit." Roose ordered. The boy's hair needed washing, but he should not need a reason to comply with orders he should simply obey.

Though he did not want to, the slave sank back down into a sitting position, the pain of it written all over his face.

Roose found a pitcher and filled it with warm water from the sink. He made the slave tip his head back, and he poured clean water over his scalp, soaking his hair. It fell down his back, a wet curtain of black. It was long enough that the ends of his hair reached the soapy water he was sitting in.

Roose did not come across many slaves with long hair. Girls, yes, but he did not trade in girls. Females were twice as much work as any male. They had more holes to contend with, menstruation to sort out, and they were twice as likely to he abused as males. It reflected poorly on him if his slaves ended in the homes of abusive owners.

Many trainers claimed that women were especially hard to deal with because they were more emotional, but Roose found that a ridiculous statement. Boys were just as impossible to deal with in his experience. They were equally as emotional, and more likely to get caught fucking one another. Female slaves could certainly have sex, but they didn't end up with an ass full of come and a load of excuses.

In all of Roose's experiences, females were much easier to train, not because they were submissive by nature, but because they weren't idiots. Boys were idiots. Absolutely and without a doubt, idiots. He liked the challenge, he supposed. 

Roose found shampoo and set to the task of working it into Theon's hair and scalp. He never thought he'd have a slave with long hair. He so liked buzzing away the inches that most boys managed to grow in the kennels. He couldn't imagine Theon without the length though, and he did not want to. Roose would keep it long... unless it proved too much to keep up with. He did not mind caring for it now, but after a bath every night for the rest of their lives together that might change. Roose wondered, dully, how Theon had managed to convince the Starks to let him keep his length. Then he decided he did not care.

He refilled the pitcher when he was finished shampooing, and poured more clean water to wash the shampoo out. Theon kept his head tipped back, and his eyes closed. When they were finished he blinked them open. "Thank you, ser." He said.

"Up," Roose commanded him. "Out of the water."

Theon was happy to oblige. Roose helped him over the side of the tub. The slave dripped water on the tile floor and held his arms to his chest to conserve warmth. The cold air was hitting him all over, causing him to shiver. Roose brought out a towel from the closet.

Theon held out his hands to take the towel from Roose, but Roose shook his head. "Arms up." He instructed. He began to rub Theon dry. Roose toweled off his limbs first, and then his shoulders and back. The slave's blush had ceased reddening down the back of his neck for a few moments, but he was back to flushing red again as soon as Roose started rubbing his belly with the soft warm towel. It only got worse when Roose went down to one knee, paying extra close attention to his cock and balls.

Roose made the slave bend over and grab the edge of the tub, and he took just as much care gently wiping between his cheeks. Theon was cringing in pain, the terry cloth rough against his chapped skin. Roose tried to avoid that, but not as hard as he probably could have tried. He did pat the slave's behind dry instead of wiping it down, but even that had Theon wincing. He would toughen up over time.

"Come on boy." Roose gave his behind a pat as he finished. "Let's comb out that hair."

It was late by the time they were finished combing out the knots of Theon's black hair. The attention and care and soft fingers gently stroking his scalp was making Theon sleepy. A full belly and warm bath probably had something to do with that as well. There was little use of staying up any later. Roose pulled the plug on the bath water and wiped down the soapy suds from the side to keep any scum from building up. They would be using this tub a lot from here on out.

Roose put everything away; the soap and shampoo and pitcher. He dropped the towel and washcloth in the hamper. He gave himself a moment to be satisfied before he turned out the lights and lead Theon back into the bedroom.

Roose stripped off his own wet shirt and pants. Theon watched. It should be odd to see his owner taken down to a similar vulnerability, his clothing that protected his nudity was gone. He had boxers, which Theon didn't, but still it should be odd. It wasn't. Roose was still an authoritative figure with his clothes off.

"Come," Roose instructed, pulling back the covers.

"I... am I allowed in your bed, ser?" Theon asked sleepily.

Roose quirked his head. Smart question. In most situations slaves weren't allowed on their owners beds, and companions certainly wouldn't be allowed, but Theon was a sex slave and Roose would be fucking this boy into the mattress in no time. Why not let him sleep on it? "Yes," Roose told him.

The slave blinked in surprise and crawled into the bed. He wasn't sure what to do, and clearly didn't know if he was allowed under the covers, until Roose showed him he was.

Roose pulled the slave possessively to his chest, pushing their bodies flush against one another. Theon seemed uncertain, and he remained stiff in Roose's grasp. Especially when Roose pushed his soft cock against the slave's bare ass. He did not jolt in pain, so much as surprise.

"Ser?" Theon whispered, sounding scared.

"Go to sleep, boy." Roose instructed him. He turned out the light on the bedside table and darkness blanketed the room. Roose was not hard, and there was a layer of cloth separating any skin from touching skin.

The slave stayed stiff in Roose's arms for a while, quite a while longer that Roose expected, but eventually sleep consumed him. His breath evened out and he fell asleep. Roose quite liked having the soft sound of breath the fall asleep to too. The boy smelled like fresh clean soap, and his body was warm. 

This had been one of Roose’s worries concerning owning a personal slave. He was worried he would not like having a slave to warm his bed. However, he found that he liked curling up with Theon. That might change in the future, but for now he happily nodded off with the boy in his arms. 

Five more months until Ramsay came home was Roose’s last thought before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave a comment! or message me at [frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) and we can talk about the #ThrooseSlavefic together!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's unfortunate that this chapter just happened to be the one posted after last sunday's ep of Game of Thrones, but hopefully yall will still enjoy. the tags have been updated with a few things but i'd like to remind everyone that this fic contains bathroom use control, degradation, all the de-humanization that comes with slavery and noncon. there's a lot of noncon in this chapter specifically. also i think theon is nineteen (grrm voice) in the books (/grrm voice) so this isn't technically underage but the age difference (and experience difference) is real.
> 
> also i'd like to say a big huge thank you to subwaywolf who beta'd this entire fic for me. i could fill all the books in all the world with a giant thank you note saying how much i appreciate him, but it still wouldn't be enough. and he wouldn't want me to do that anyway because then he'd have to beta it and he's already beta'd so much. thank you, though. thank you so much, subway! thank you.

Roose spent the morning with his laptop on one thigh and Theon's head resting gently on the other. Even though Sunday was his day off, he never truly had a day off. Not in this business. The facility did not cease operations on Sundays; they continued on whether he was in his office or not. He still received emails throughout the day and he liked to stay on top of them.

On his days out of the office, Roose left the facility in the knowing hands of his head trainer Ondrew Locke. He was only slightly younger than Roose, with dark hair and a bright mind. He was smart, well disciplined as a trainer, and he worked hard. Sometimes Locke went with Roose to auctions, and in those cases the facility was left in the hands of Rodrik Ryswell. Ryswell was only slightly older than Roose, with greying hair and a slowing mind. He was smart and well disciplined in his own right, but he was getting older and Roose foresaw him retiring soon.

Roose’s reign at the training facility as head trainer could not last for ever and he worried about who would take over after him. Locke was currently his only viable option, and that option did not excite him. For a very long time he had thought it would be Domeric, but Domeric was gone now. There might be some hope in Ramsay, some small spark in the boy that could be fanned into the flame of a good leader. From what Roose had seen of his leading style so far, Ramsay was more likely to burn the place down than lead it. Roose would know more when they boy was home again, but that would be half a year from now and did not bear thinking about it in the mean time. 

Roose read emails from Locke as they came in, pretending he wasn’t using off days like today as a test of the man’s leadership skills should he be chosen to take over. Roose did other things too, of course. He reviewed the updates of different kennels, keeping tabs on which places had received new shipments of raw slaves and from where and when. He kept up with different showcases coming to the area that he might be able to take some of his slaves to to show them off to potential buyers. Roose disliked showcases, but they were good for business.

There were a million things he could keep himself busy with, all of them work-related. As soon as Theon was further into his training, Roose would likely spend most of his Sundays fucking the boy instead, but that was a ways away for them yet.

For now, Theon lay curled on the couch cushions beside him. He had started stretched out, but then turned over on his side. He got bored of that after a while and laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Then he got bored of that and turned back to his side again. Roose scolded him for moving around so much, so Theon lay still for a while. He nodded off a few times, but mostly he remained awake. No matter what position he was in, he kept his head resting against Roose. Roose didn’t mention it, as he didn’t mind it there.

They had eaten breakfast together. Roose at the table and Theon on his knees beside him. Theon was still shy about being fed, but he did not protest the fork when he saw it coming like he had last time. Roose helped him swallow juice from a glass as well, and Theon made a mess of that. It spilled down his chin, leaving a sticky trail. They would get better at it. Roose cleaned him up with a wet rag the same as the night before, and then it was over to the couch for Roose to work and Theon to relax.

“Ser?” Theon said sleepily after a while. He sat up a little. “Ah… I have to… go.”

Roose glanced down at the slave. “Ser, may I please use the restroom,” Roose corrected him. Theon repeated the words back, learning the correct way to ask, and once he’d completed that, Roose gave him directions; the second door on the right down the hall towards the front door.

Theon sat up and got to his feet. He glanced down the hall and then back to Roose. “Thank you, ser,” he said. He hesitated and lingered a moment. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Ned Stark probably taught him that one. Little suck up. Roose gave him a blank stare. “Don’t waste my time boy, do you need help? Is that why you’re hesitating?”

Theon’s ears turned red and he hurried off. When he came back he nestled into the couch again, resting against Roose. He wasn’t even curled up for more than a moment before his stomach growled. Loudly.

“Hungry little thing, aren’t you?” Roose murmured. Theon misliked being called little, Roose could tell. He likely thought he was a man grown, and out of all the pre-trained slaves Roose came across companions had the worst time adjusting to the dehumanization that sex slaves were inclined to. Theon had experienced the least of that, in truth. It was only going to get worse for him, but Roose was easing him into it.

Roose took a respite from work and made more food. Theon did even better at being fed this time and did not spill so much while drinking. He ate more than Roose did, but he was younger and had a bigger appetite. Roose wanted him healthy. He did not believe in starving slaves. It was a good motivator, but he knew pain worked better.

This time, when Roose set to work cleaning up the lunch mess, Theon interrupted him. “Ser,” he said. “I… could help. If you wanted me to.”

Roose paused in what he was doing, wiping down the kitchen table, to stare at the boy. “Tell me, Theon. Did you not understand me before when I told you that you were a sex slave now, and no longer a companion?”

Theon seemed surprised, as if that wasn’t the reaction he had expected. “Ser?”

“A companion helps their owner with everyday tasks,” Roose explained. “A sex slave is used for sex, and does not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand that, or are you a bit dull boy?”

Theon’s face turned pink, and he lowered his eyes. “Sorry, ser. I… I only wanted to help.”

“I doubt that,” Roose said, returning to his task. “You only wanted to suck up to me. I’m not impressed by you failing to understand your position. I would also like to make something very clear; it’s not about what you want, it’s about what I want.”

“I understand, ser,” Theon said sullenly.

“I doubt that, too,” Roose admitted. “But see that you learn from this.”

Theon was less inclined to curl up with Roose again after that, but Roose had more work to attend to so he sat the boy on his knees beside the couch and made Theon stay there.

Groceries came and Roose put them away. A woman arrived with fresh laundry, and Roose traded out the towels in the hamper from upstairs. He was polite to both of them, but he did not let them into his home. Theon was made to stay kneeling throughout all of it and was not allowed to interact with anyone except Roose the whole day.

It was late in the afternoon by the time Roose was satisfied with what he accomplished. It wasn’t as much as usual because he had Theon to distract him, but that was fine. He would have to get used to accomplishing less and less on his days off. There was afternoon light pooling in from the windows, sliced by the thick trees that encircled the house. Theon must have been bored because he was staring quite blankly at a bright spot on the ground. His expression was especially empty.

They had not eaten dinner, and likely would not if they went ahead with Roose’s plans, but Roose was fine with that. He put his laptop away and stood. It felt good to stretch a little after sitting for so long. “Come along, boy.”

Theon was pulled from his daydreams. He got to his feet, and he followed Roose up the stairwell. He didn’t seem to know what they were doing in the master bedroom but he did not ask. Roose nodded towards the bathroom. “Go.”

Theon’s eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Ser, I don’t…”

Roose’s expression shut him up fairly quickly. “Go,” Roose said again. “And see that you’re empty. If I have to inspect you, you won’t like it.”

Theon flushed with humiliation and he turned tail and hurried off, closing the door behind him. He took his time, but that was fine. It meant that he was following orders, and it gave Roose time to pull out what they would need for the rest of the evening. 

Roose had considered giving the boy alkyl nitrites, but decided against it. He had this one opportunity to fuck a virgin, and he wanted to feel every little bit of that tightness. So he went with lubricant instead. It had been a long, long time since Roose had slept with someone. He’d had a few wives, but neither could compete with the slave training business. He had never owned a personal slave before. He’d taken a few home to see after them after, but he had not fucked them.

Roose was actually looking forward to this, and he could not remember the last time he felt this way about anything. After all his hard work, money earned, and time spent toiling over his training facility, he deserved a slave of his own.

Theon opened the door then and found Roose with the bed covers turned down, unbuttoning his shirt. The slave stopped in his tracks. He might have had some inclination of what would be happening to him, but it didn’t seem to hit him until now. The fear that possessed him was so acute Roose could sense it from across the room, and it was clear to see just how afraid the boy was.

“Come here, Theon.” Roose beckoned the boy closer.

Theon stumbled. He stared at the bed as if it were a crime scene, and he did not want to approach. Roose reached out for the boy as soon as he was close enough, putting a firm hand on Theon’s shoulder. “I know you’ve had a hard time understanding that you were bought for sex. It’s time you lost your virginity and started your training. Tonight will be unlike others. I’m sure that you will be in pain.”

Theon turned to look at Roose, horrified. The boy should thank him for the honesty, not look so appalled.

“If you disobey or act poorly you will be punished tomorrow in ways you’ll regret. You’ve felt a paddle, but believe me when I tell you that that is nothing compared to what will happen to you if I dislike your behavior tonight. Do you understand?”

Roose thought the boy was about to say no. “Ser,” he whispered instead. “I’m…”

Scared? He was too proud to admit it. That was a shame, Roose didn’t mind a little fear.

“Go crawl onto the bed boy, on all fours. Let me see the back of you. I’ll make this easier on you than you deserve.”

Theon’s fingers trembled at his sides. He didn’t want to go. He glanced at Roose again and lowered his head all at once. Roose’s face showed how serious he was. He would not stand for Theon’s disobedience. Theon swallowed the lump in his throat and crawled on to the foot of the bed. He barely made it on to the mattress before Roose reached out for him, gently. Theon started at the touch. “Stay,” Roose instructed him.

Theon looked good on his hands and knees. Roose reminded himself to have the boy sit like that more often. His behind was still small, but this way Roose could see between his cheeks to his hole. That was a much more interesting thing to look at, in Roose’s opinion. 

Roose slid his hand over the boy’s ass, bringing his thumb to brush gently against his entrance. It was as tight and closed up as ever. Roose enjoyed the thought of pushing into it. Theon had only ever had a few fingers up there, if that. Amazing.

“Relax,” Roose told the boy. There was no change. When Roose glanced up, he saw that Theon was staring straight ahead. His hands were fists in the sheets, clenching them tightly. Roose made a soft, disappointed noise with his tongue. “Theon, relax. Or you’ll suffer more than you have to.”

The slave let out a breath of defeat.

Roose pulled his hand back from Theon’s behind. He opened the tube of lubricant he had found for the occasion. At the Greatjon’s kennels they used something water-based that was clear in color. Roose had a soft creamy lubricant, white in color. Unfortunately for Theon it was just as cold, and when Roose moved to smear a dob of it on the slave’s tight hole – where his thumb had just been – Theon reacted as expected; a tight clench.

“Theon,” Roose scolded mildly. Shouting at him wouldn’t help him ease up any, not that Roose ever shouted.

“Fuck,” Theon whispered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, ser. I can’t… I… I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Roose told him. He eased a long line of white lubricant onto two of his fingers and rubbed it in, coating the whole of them. As soon as he was ready he lined his first finger up, pressing the very tip against Theon’s opening. “Open up.”

Theon was scared, absolutely and positively, but he gave Roose a big push. His hole twitched, the pucker ceased to pinch so tightly, and Roose took the opportunity to push his finger in. He slid it in slowly, though it wouldn’t be any easier no matter what he did. Theon made a muffled noise, and clenched against it.

Roose liked the feeling. He only wished it was his cock in there feeling the intensity of Theon’s tightness. It was a shame that he had to open the boy up in first, but two fingers were nothing and it was likely to be painful for the both of them if he did not prepare the slave beforehand.

Roose gave the slave a moment to adjust to the feeling. He slid his finger out half of the way before easing it back in again. Theon pushed against him, resisting. That was bad form, but it would feel good later so Roose did not correct him. Not yet.

“Breathe,” Roose ordered. Theon’s chest was tight. The slave pushed out the air in his lungs but his body was still as taut as ever.

Roose knew it would be quite a chore getting his second finger in but he ought to start or they might never get there. He slid his first finger out again and this time pressed two in. Theon resisted, of course, groaning. Roose forced it instead of easing them both inside, and that got a nasty reaction. The slave clenched up, tighter than ever, and he yelped at the sudden inclusion of more girth.

“Ser,” Theon gasped. “Fuck. It hurts.”

It was going to get worse. “That would be your fault,” Roose informed him quietly. “If you would stop resisting, you might find this easier. How many times do I have to tell you? Relax.”

Roose could sense the boy trying. He could hear Theon take one deep breath after another. Roose kept his fingers in place right where they were, not moving them. Theon’s body had a vice grip on them, squishing them together, squeezing them tight. That wasn’t likely to change no matter how relaxed he became, if it all. 

Theon was likely feeling his inner muscles pulse with pain, the result of being forced open. Eventually the pain evened out and his breathing evened too, and Roose took that as enough sign to keep going. It took effort to twist his fingers, feeling constant resistance in such a tight, confined space. Roose switched so that one was layered on top of the other. Theon squirmed a little. Roose switched them again. Again, and again, until he had enough room to work them in a soft scissoring motion. It worked well enough, though nothing could open Theon enough for what was coming. It would take stretching and use to see a cock enter easily. This was just so he did not end up ripped open and screaming.

“Good,” Roose complimented him. “I’m taking my fingers out. Try to remain as open as you can.”

Theon groaned.

Roose extracted his fingers, just as he said he would. The boy’s hole did not even gape, it closed right back up. At least it looked a little looser. “Crawl to the pillows, boy,” Roose ordered him. “Lay on your back and spread your legs.”

Roose busied himself with undressing, and saw out of the corner of his eye that Theon had complied. When he was out of his clothes he repurposed the bottle of lubricant, and instead of slicking up his fingers he squeezed a good amount into his palm and warmed it in his hands. He stroked it onto his own cock, bringing a little life to it. Not that feeling the slave’s tight hole hadn’t excited him, but Roose would need more than a fingering to do it for him. Inspecting slaves was an everyday occurrence for him; fucking a virgin was not. It was that thought that drove him.

Theon was terrified. He looked like he might be sick and his body was trembling. His cock hung limp over one of his thighs; his thighs that he had done a poor job spreading. He was too scared to spread his legs wide. 

Roose considered consoling him, but he didn’t see the point. He climbed onto the bed instead. Kneeing across the mattress, he got into position between Theon’s legs. He showed the slave how to wrap his legs around Roose’s waist, and Roose helped hold it there, keeping it in place. Theon was up on his elbows, staring up at Roose. He did not speak, but his face was begging Roose not to continue. 

“Lay back.” Roose told him. 

Theon did as he was told. He swallowed his fear and stared up at the ceiling. 

Roose reached between them and he found his slick cock. It wasn’t as hard as it could be so he nudged it against Theon’s ass cheeks, sliding softly. The slave’s body was warm, and between his ass he was wet with lube, so the slick of it felt nice. Roose urged his hips into a soft roll, feeling the rush of blood that came with the pleasant sensation. That was what he needed. 

Roose would have quite liked to stuff his thick cock in then, but he supposed he ought to give the slave a fair warning. “Take a deep breath, Theon,” Roose instructed. He watched the slave’s chest rise. Theon refused to look at him. “Let it out. Relax.” 

It was on that breath out that Roose lined up his cock just right and plunged in.

Theon’s body seized up. His shoulder blades dug into the mattress and his back arched. “Fuck.” He said, forcing the rest of the air out of his lungs. He tried breathe in, but it ended up a sharp, biting gasp instead. Tears sprung to his eyes. “Fuck, oh god. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

The boy may have been in a world of pain, but Roose was in a world of pleasure. The heat of Theon’s body was divine, but the tightness. God. Roose could feel Theon’s insides squeezing him, clinging to him, clenching up and sealing in all of the slave’s delicious internal heat. The tightest part of all was the ring of muscles that comprised of his pink, pinched hole. Running his cock through that had been exquisite, but now it clenched around the base of Roose’s shaft, squeezing, convulsing, pulsing as Theon’s body tried to fight the intrusion. 

Roose dipped his head, closing his eyes, thoroughly enjoying the sensation. 

“It hurts,” Theon whispered. 

When Roose opened his eyes again, he saw that Theon was crying, likely more from the shock of pain than the violation of what was happening. Roose wouldn’t say so himself, but his cock was of an impressive size, and Theon had never had anything like this inside of him before. Of course it hurt. 

“Oh, god. It won’t stop hurting.” Theon struggled, squirmed, trying to twist away. His chest hitched with another panicked breath. “Ser, please. Fuck. It hurts so much.”

“Shh,” Roose soothed him. He did not move; he instead allowed the slave to deal with the wave of pain. It was not like to get much easier, but Theon didn’t need to know that. “Breathe, boy. Relax and breathe.” 

Theon nodded and sucked in more air, but it didn’t help. Roose could not tell if the boy was really trying to relax. The way he’d stuffed his two fingers in and waited, Roose did the same thing here and now. Theon had more to adjust to than the width of two fingers though, so he waited even longer. The tears did not stop, and the slave’s breath continued to be short stunted gasps, but Roose wasn’t interested in waiting all night for Theon to be ready. 

He pulled out, and pushed in again, and Theon moaned in pain. Roose ignored him. The spark of friction from his one soft thrust felt so good, he didn’t want to stop. He thrust again, humming softly at the pleasure of it. He reached out for Theon’s leg, wrapping it more securely around his waist. He pulled the slave’s bare ass flush against his thighs and began to fuck. 

Theon suffered through it. Roose held him in place and fucked him like that until he was breathless, and then he pushed Theon’s knees up to his chest and fucked him like that too. Theon issued grunts of pain, and fresh tears filled his blue eyes at the change in position. He was beautiful in his agony. His tears suited him, his black hair splayed out over the red pillows artfully, and his tight hole stayed clenched in an impossible way no matter how long Roose thrust into him or what position he fucked the boy in. Roose had not known how perfect a virgin hole felt until he had one squeezing his cock for hours on end. 

Roose fucked the boy until he ceased to tear up, until his grunts and grimacing were no longer. Theon’s face never quite stopped showing the pain he felt, but his body went lax and he stopped clasping the sheets in his fists. Even through that, his hole remained tight. Not as tight as it had been they started, but tight enough. 

Roose fucked him until he came, one demanding thrust after the other, shoving deep into the slave’s body, reaching parts within him that nothing and no one had ever reached before. Roose’s orgasm burned through him, hotter than Theon’s warm, pink insides. He unloaded his seed, laying claim to this slave’s hole. Theon was his now. 

Roose pulled his softening cock out. He pushed the slave to lay on his side and nuzzled up behind the boy. Theon let himself be pushed, and he lay there as Roose curled behind him. They stayed like that, silent and still, until Roose was ready again. 

He stroked his cock until it was hard, retreated it with another handful of lubricant, and forced Theon onto his belly. The slave buried his face in the pillows and took up handfuls of the covers. Roose spread Theon’s wet cheeks and found them messy with lubricant, come, and small traces of blood. He must have done a little damage when he first thrust in. That didn’t deter him from doing it again, though. 

The second time was just as amazing as the first. Theon yelped into the pillows. Roose held the boy’s hips and began pounding into his ass immediately. He was slicker now, coated with come deep into the depths of his body. He was still unbelievably tight, though. His wet hole suckled at Roose’s cock, squelching with each thrust. Roose fucked him until he wasn’t wet anymore, until the friction was rough and the heat of it burned. He fucked Theon until the boy was so raw that his cries and grunts returned, and he began to struggle. 

Roose unloaded a second wad of come, climaxing against the feel of Theon’s hot insides convulsing with pain. When he was finished with that, he was finished for the night. The sun had set, and the room was dark, and the both of them were breathless. Roose pulled his cock out and pulled the boy into his arms, holding him. 

Theon lasted a good while before he broke into tears. The slave ended up crying himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. drop a comment if you'd like, or hmu in my [ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) and we can talk about the #ThrooseSlavefic together


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know a lot of u guys out there are very sad for theon! i'm sorry to say this chapter is not much happier for him. it's gotta get worse before it gets better right? that's a saying or something? not sure. but still. hang in there, the payoff is coming. things start looking up around chapter 10 but there's some more heartache till then. tags have been updated and some things that were already tagged reappear in this chapter. 
> 
> i also wanted to say a big ginormous thank you to my beautiful wolf friend subwaywolf. i wish i could give you a big hug. the type of big hug they write about on the sides of tan colored coffee mugs that one might ash a cigarette into while drinking lone star beer. that kind of big hug.

Roose woke to the sound of his alarm. It was still dark out. Theon was sleeping soundly beside him, though he looked quite pained as he slept. As Roose climbed out of bed the slave clutched the blanket to his nude body for warmth. Roose left him there in order to shower. 

While still getting dressed Roose walked to the bed in order to give the boy a nudge. “Wake up, Theon,” he said before he went to finish getting ready.

There was a sluggish rustling under the covers before a groggy little voice called out to him.

“Ser, something’s wrong,” Theon said, voice cracking. He sounded half asleep and quite scared.

Roose was knotting a tie at his neck as he walked over to the bedside again. He stared at Theon.

Theon could barely open his eyes he was so tired, but somehow he still managed a particularly pained wince. “I… it hurts so much.”

Roose’s eyes, pale as ice, followed the shape of Theon’s body under the blankets. They landed on the gentle curve of his behind, and he gazed thoughtfully at it, finishing the knot on his tie. After a moment, he walked away, disappearing into the bathroom again.

Theon must have nodded off for half a second. When Roose returned to the bed his eyes were closed. He quickly stripped the blankets away, exposing Theon’s nudity to the cold air of the bedroom. Theon gasped and awoke fully.

“Spread your legs,” Roose instructed. 

The order struck fear into the slave, and when he did not move to comply readily Roose physically moved the boy’s legs himself, pushing them apart at the thighs. He spread Theon’s cheeks, still bright pink from his paddling, though less sensitive to touch now. The room was still dark, but the lamp on the night table was turned on. Roose gave the slave’s ass a cursory inspection. He used his thumb to gently brush away crusted blood and come, which sent Theon whimpering. 

Honestly, the damage wasn’t so bad. It was a lot less than Roose had expected. There were a few small tears, and Theon was puckered up bright red instead of that pink that Roose liked, but that would go away in a short amount of time.

“Get up,” Roose told him, unhanding Theon’s ass and stepping away from the bed.

Theon did not move fast enough, so Roose reached out for the small of the slave’s back and pinned him to the mattress. “When I give you an order, you will comply. Quickly.” With the hand that wasn’t pinning Theon down, he accented his words with a hard slap. A handprint rose in bright pink on the dusky shade that already colored Theon’s ass cheeks. The slave had taken his paddling with little more than a muffled noise of surprise or two, but this one spank had him crying out in pain, wrenching away from Roose’s grasp.

“Get up,” Roose said again, letting the slave go. He did not raise his voice but dropped it lower, and colder, and Theon was too scared not to obey.

It was clear how much pain he was in, and he limped heavily as he followed Roose to the bathroom. He looked determined in his pain, at least. He had the expression of a man who was intent on not letting his suffering break him. Theon had no idea how little he was suffering, a loss of virginity was nothing to scowl so much about, but Roose made no comment on the look on the slave’s face. He stopped at the bathroom door and reached out for Theon’s shoulder, allowing him to go in first. The slave blinked and squinted at the bright white light. 

“Brush your teeth,” Roose told him, nodding to a plain toothbrush sitting on the counter. “And comb your hair when you’re done.”

Theon set to work, doing as he was told. He didn’t want another smack on the ass for being too slow. Roose watched him, supervising the process. After Theon was done brushing his teeth, Roose went to sit on the edge of the tub. Even sitting casually, he was still powerful. His back was straight and his shoulders were square. Roose commanded the energy of the room, and Theon was all too aware that he was subject to that commanding dominance.

When he finished brushing his hair, Theon turned to Roose. He looked a little pale, likely from the pain that hadn’t stopped pulsing through him since he’d woken.

“Wet that washcloth there.” Roose nodded to a cloth folded neatly on the counter. It was as white as everything else in the room. Theon quickly did as he was told, not thinking of why. Good. He shouldn’t be wondering why commands were given, he should simply be following them. Roose took it from him, when he was finished.

“Over my knee,” Roose instructed next, and Theon stepped forward without thinking, then hesitated entirely. Roose grabbed the boy’s wrist and yanked him, giving him another hard swat for the hesitation. This time the slave did not cry out, but clenched his jaw tight and swallowed the sounds of his misery. He folded over Roose’s lap, utterly embarrassed but terrified of what would happen if he didn’t.

Much like he had on the bed, Roose spread Theon open again. A blush spread from his ears to his shoulders, matching the bright color of the two handprints on his ass. In the brighter light of the bathroom Roose could see the details of everything even better. He couldn’t believe the slave was complaining so much. Roose had purchased raw slaves who’d seen abuse twice as worse than this, and he’d seen them start training the very next day without complaint. Theon’s virginity was wearing down as a viable excuse. He may have never felt pain deep inside of him before, but he was going to have to learn to suck it up and deal with it.

Roose brought the wet rag to the tender, torn parts of Theon’s exposed hole and began cleaning. Theon squirmed in pain, clenching tightly. “Ser,” his voice was a whisper. “Please, god, ser, that hurts.”

“Enough complaining.” Roose was being more careful with the slave than he deserved for his constant misbehavior. This was mostly because Roose did not want to cause any more damage that would stifle the healing process. It certainly wasn’t because he thought Theon deserved it easy. 

He wiped away any residue left behind from the night before, come or lubricant or blood or anything else. When he was finished, he used a dry corner of the washcloth to wipe Theon dry. The slave especially hated that, likely because the material of the cloth felt rough, but it needed to be done.

That would be their morning routine from here on out. Roose hoped it would go easier in the future, with less complaining on Theon’s behalf and certainly more obedience. He would learn with time that there was no point in misbehaving, that it would only serve him pain and unhappiness. For now, Roose would have to be strict and consistent with correcting the slave.

The slave was not allowed any clothes and he wouldn’t be getting another bath until the end of the day, so after the detailed cleaning he was ready to go. Roose took the slave downstairs and out into the crisp morning air where he shivered in the cold until they reached the car. Theon attempted to sit when Roose told him to sit in the passenger seat. Then he twisted and put his weight on his hip and dug his elbows into the armrests and sat like that instead. It was poor posture, and Roose told him as much.

They drove through the woods to where the training facility lay waiting in the clearing. Roose parked in a space specially designated for him. The sun was cresting out over the trees, lighting the way for trainers who were commuting in for the morning shift. There were other trainers leaving, having worked through the night. They exchanged waves to one another, smiling and laughing happily as they exited or entered their cars.

Since the training facility was so far away from any towns or a real population, most of the trainers moved in to a nearby apartment complex in order to work here. They all seemed to know each other and get along well, which Roose benefitted from. The lot of them liked to congregate at a bar near to the apartment building after their shifts were done. He had never been inclined to visit this bar himself, but then again he didn’t associate with many of his trainers at all. The more distance he had from them, the better.

Still, when they saw Roose climbing out of the driver’s seat many trainers stopped to say good morning or hello or at the very least they gave a wave. Roose didn’t return any. He circled around to help Theon down from the passenger seat since the slave could scarcely move without wincing. A trainer held open the main door into the facility for them, and was stuck holding it for a while by the time Theon hobbled along to it.

“Ooh, who’s this?” The trainer asked cheerfully, reaching out to give Theon’s black hair a ruffle. The slave ducked his head, not liking being touched. “Finally bought yourself a toy to take home, ser?”

The trainers were employees of Roose’s, well paid with benefits and bonuses and commission for every slave sold. There was a low turnover rate, so many of them had been working here for years. Roose knew all of their faces and many of their names. His staff was efficient and effective and he liked them. Most of them. He didn’t care for this trainer touching his personal slave, though.

“Keep your hands to yourself, please,” Roose requested, coming to Theon’s defense. His voice was soft, and quiet, and utterly polite. “He’s untrained still.”

The trainer held up both hands and nodded in understanding. “You’re training him, ser?” He asked and whistled low as he followed them inside. “Lucky thing, aren’t you,” he said to Theon. “Being trained by Roose Bolton himself.”

The slave did not know what to say to that, but his expression read as someone who was completely miserable instead of lucky. Roose would have to remind the boy to work on controlling his emotions better. If he had been a companion once he should be better at this. “Come along,” Roose said, grabbing Theon by the back of the neck and leading him aggressively. The trainer turned another way, waving goodbye to Roose and his slave, and Roose was glad to be rid of the company.

The interior halls of the facility were made of the same white painted cinderblock that the walls of Roose’s office consisted off. The whole place had an industrial feel; concrete and stainless steel. Roose’s office was the most comfortable room in the entire facility, with his great big wood desk and leather armchairs. The rest of the facility was sterile and plain.

Instead of heading straight for Roose’s office, they took a different route. Theon was struggling to keep pace, still limping as he walked. It seemed as though he was trying to hide his limp as any trainer they passed in the hall only had eyes for him, but he did a poor job of it. The two of them turned down one corner, and then another, and the sound of voices swelled in the hall ahead.

“Stay close,” Roose instructed.

Theon attempted to speed up and step closer to Roose, but a small noise of pain escaped the slave as he hurried. He stopped hurrying after that. 

A set of double doors opened up to a full cafeteria and every seat at every table was filled with slaves. There were a few on their knees on the floor, no doubt serving some punishment. The tables were white, the seats were steel, and the whole place had a very sleek look to it. 

Every slave was naked, and many had deep red leather collars strapped to their necks. The newer ones, the ones who hadn’t earned their collars yet, stood out in how pale their throats seemed in comparison. The slaves came in nearly every shape and size; Roose Bolton did not trade in any specific type or discriminate in any way. He only trained boys, yes, but he trained every sort of boy there was. He even trained some who had not been born as male at all, and they went for an impressive amount on the trained market. 

The only thing the lot of them had in common were their heads, buzzed down with clippers. Theon looked especially odd with his long black hair. Slaves all across the room straightened their postures and bowed their heads to the sight of Roose attending their presence, but they could not resist looking with their eyes to the odd slave following behind Roose. They continued quietly with their conversations, and suddenly all their whispering was about Theon.

Though the slave usually liked to bring attention to himself by talking out of turn or misbehaving in other ways Roose noticed that he seemed quite shy now. 

Like most cafeterias in the world there was an array of food to choose from. That was not for the slaves though, that was for the trainers; the employees. There were some trainers standing around, supervising the slaves but most were only passing through the cafeteria to grab some breakfast and go on their way. Training started immediately after the slaves were done eating, and there was lots to set up and prepare for. 

The slaves got a pre-prepared trays of foods specially designed to give them enough energy throughout the day and to help them keep their physique. There was nothing wrong with it; it wasn’t cheap, it didn’t taste bad. Roose did not believe in feeding his slaves protein mush like other trainers did, or in skimping on the quality. A healthy, well-bred slave needed to eat well and so he fed them well. The only difference between what they ate and what the trainers ate was that they had no choice. They ate what they were given, and that was the end of it. 

“Take one,” Roose said, gesturing for Theon to take a tray already loaded up with food from a stack. 

Theon had all the eyes on him, and instead of responding with obedience and good behavior to show the other slaves that he was worthy of being Roose Bolton’s personal sex slave... Theon made the dire mistake of clenching his jaw and mouthing off through his teeth.

“Do I get to eat this by myself, or are you going to feed it to me?” He asked. 

He got one limping step towards the stack of trays before Roose grabbed his arm and yanked hard. A hush went over the cafeteria. All the slaves pretended not to watch, but they were certainly watching. 

“If you’re unhappy with the way you’ve been treated, Theon Greyjoy, you had better learn to swallow it,” Roose warned him, giving the boy’s arm a rough shake. He spoke quietly but there was an utterly ominous warning in his words; dark as a black tide, washing horror over the slave in his grasp. “There are slaves in this room who have been subject to atrocities worse than you have, who have suffered at hands more sadistic than mine, and who have gone on to serve faithfully despite what’s been done to them. Your suffering is non-existent in comparison.” 

Theon’s face was pale with fear, a look of dread clear in his eyes. His chest blotched red as the humiliation of being scolded so publicly sunk in. He did not speak. He stared up at Roose, paralyzed by the tight grasp on his arm. He meet his owner’s eyes with a look of fear.

“Do you understand what I’m saying to you, boy?” Roose asked. Theon was too frightened to speak, so Roose shook him again. “Do you?” He asked, a terrible whisper.

“Yes, ser.” Theon whispered right back, his words were a squeak of fear and did not command the room the way Roose’s did. 

“59294.” Roose strung the five numbers together. He had spoken at a normal tone instead of a whisper, but with the hush that surrounded them he might as well have shouted. A slave stood up then, a gorgeous blonde with brown eyes and a bright red collar. He was a few tables away, but standing up in a cafeteria of sitting slaves put a spotlight on him. “What did your previous owners do to you?” Roose asked, not taking his cold eyes off of Theon for a second. 

59294 did not hesitate, despite the difficulty of the words “They raped me, ser.”

“How did they rape you?” Roose asked. 

“With a hot curling iron, ser.”

“Would you like to see the burns?” Roose asked Theon, dropping his voice low again, meaning for just the two of them to hear. Theon’s virginity had been taken from him roughly, but at least he had not been taken in such a manner. The slave should be grateful he had no burns.

Theon had tears prickling in his eyes, tears of humiliation. He quickly shook his head. “I’m sorry, ser.” He whispered, the shame of his outburst was coursing through him. He was starting to understand.

59294 was an exceptional slave, and despite his injuries making him unsellable, Roose had snatched the boy up for free, saw to his rehabilitation, and now 59294 was a favorite of his. He could not resell the slave with his burns, but Roose kept him around to show him off at showcases and to impress potential buyers. His behavior was superb and his obedience was undeniable and he was a good example to not only the other slaves in the facility but to anyone he came in contact with. There was nothing more impressive than a broken slave being turned into a perfect one. It was a shame that Roose had to use a horrific past to his advantage, but at least some good things could come from 59294’s mistreatment. 

Roose let Theon go, and the slave bowed his head all at once. He immediately limped to get a tray, and took it in his shaking fingers. The plastic silverware it came with rattled. 

“Keep it together,” Roose warned Theon. 

Theon nodded, swallowed the lump in his throat, and followed Roose back out the way they’d come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for reading and commenting so far! feel free to leave more comments or ask me anything about the #ThrooseSlavefic on tumblr :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends! a lot of things that have already been tagged come up again in this chapter, so be sure to re-familiarize yourself with them and confirm that you're comfortable with reading all of those things before you continue. tags i've added are slave training, invasion of privacy, object insertion, anal plug, spanking, and degradation. bathroom use control comes up again too, i know that's one that can weird people out so tread carefully.
> 
> also i would like to say thank you to subwaywolf. i found out recently that comic book writers have editors who they can go to and ask questions regarding canon and continuity. we all know that novelists and other writers have editors that help them edit their writing. subwaywolf has been doing both for me for as long as i've been writing boltonfic. he has been there to answer every dumb question about context and canon, and he's poured in countless hours fixing my thoughtless typos and grammar errors. people get paid to do his job, and he's pulling double duty and doing those same things for free. why? because he's an amazing person. i am so, so, so lucky to have him. thank you so much for everything.

Theon’s training began as simply as any training could, by way of routine. In the morning Roose woke to shower and he left the slave to catch a few extra minutes of sleep in bed. When he was dressed and ready Theon stumbled blearily to the bathroom to brush his teeth and comb his hair and take a piss if he needed to. Then it was out to the car and down to the training facility for a long day of work. 

They ate breakfast and lunch at the facility. Theon ate from slave trays and Roose picked what he liked from the cafeteria. Sometimes he shared with his slave, offering bites of food for Theon to take from his fingers, but mostly Theon stuck to what he had in his tray. In the mornings, he stood over Roose’s desk with his hands crossed politely behind his back. In the afternoons Roose begun Theon’s real training.

He made the slave stretch and lay on the ground and relax. It sounded silly, and there was no doubt that Theon felt silly doing it because he often blushed like mad while Roose walked him through it. They started with his toes and worked their way up his ankles and calves, to his thighs, from his legs to his belly. The fingers in each hand, the muscles in each arm. His neck, his head, every muscle in his back. Theon was made to wiggle or flex each until the tension let go and his body was at ease. If he fell asleep, and sometimes he did during such a relaxing exercise, Roose dropped pencils on him and made the boy do push-ups on reawakening. 

Roose’s voice was soft and calm and rarely changed tone, and that was probably how Theon ended up nodding off so often. Roose worked as he talked Theon through the process, and he found he was quite efficient at multi-tasking. 

They didn’t usually make it home until late. At night, they ate dinner together. Theon always got a bath before bed, where Roose washed every part of him with care and detail. Even after a week of it, Theon still blushed when Roose’s soapy fingers brushed over his healing hole or his wet cock and balls. Roose didn’t mind seeing those blushes, and he hoped they lasted a while longer yet. 

After every bath, Roose dried Theon’s hair and body and they brushed their teeth together before bed. Roose held the slave at night, his cock nudging against the boy’s backside, but he made no attempt to fuck the slave. Theon was grateful for that. 

There had been some minor struggles on the first few days. On their first night after Theon’s loss of virginity, his hole had been too sore to push anything out and he cried in the bathroom trying to go. Roose had watched his belly swell with a days worth of food, and he knew the slave would be sick if he didn’t get it all, along with the come that was still inside of him, out.

He made the slave swallow prune juice which Theon especially hated him for, but it worked out in the end. Theon likely hated the breach of his privacy most. Roose had not seen him more embarrassed before or since then when he asked Theon how it went. He wasn’t asking because it interested him in some twisted way, he was asking because the slave’s health was important and this was all a part of being healthy whether Theon liked it or not.

Theon did begin healing nicely though. Roose inspected him every night before bed, instead of in the morning. After his baths, he bent the slave over his knee and took stock of the changes. His hole grew pink instead of further red, and the tears began to heal. Roose used an over-the-counter antiseptic and antibacterial cream on it for a few days which made Theon gasp and twist and squirm in pain. He claimed that it burned, but Roose would tell him an infection would be a lot worse. 

By the end of the week, Theon could sit comfortably, go to the bathroom perfectly fine, and there was much less visible damage of what had happened. He was back to being pinched and puckered and looked closer to how he had before Roose had fucked him. The idea of fucking a tight little hole again did appeal to Roose, but he knew he shouldn’t. Not if he wanted Theon’s body to last. 

They spent a whole week perfecting their routine. On Sunday, Roose cleaned, put away laundry, and stored the groceries when they arrived. In the afternoon, he made Theon run laps around the house as punishment for his constant hesitation. No matter how many hard slaps on the ass Roose gave him, the slave did not learn to go any faster. Roose had to take Theon over his knee at work one day, spanking him over and over again for failing to complete a task fast enough. A trainer had walked in on them, to Theon’s utter embarrassment, but Roose continued with the discipline until he was done and Theon’s ass was bright red. 

Running was more exercise than punishment, in truth. Theon was cooped up and it showed. His only exercise during the day came from walking the halls of the facility for breakfast and lunch and otherwise he was standing, or stretching out on the ground and working on relaxing. There were the occasional push-ups, but those did not count as a work-out. 

Theon seemed to quite like running. He tired out after a while, and by the time he was done his hair was a sweaty mess and he stank like sweat. Roose didn’t mind it, but he would take extra care scrubbing Theon clean in the bath that night. 

Theon had been panting at the end of his run, chest rising and falling, sweat dripping and sliding over his skin. He drank water desperately from a glass in Roose’s hand and his eyes shined with the delight of having worked off so much pent up energy. Roose liked the look on the boy. He would like it better if that was how Theon looked when they were done fucking, though. 

Roose decided then, after seeing Theon like that, that it was time to take another step in their training. 

After an especially thorough bath, with two courses of soap, Roose nodded towards the bed. “Go sit and wait for me,” he instructed. 

Theon went. His hair was still wet, dripping down his back. He sat at the edge of the bed, curious and waiting. Roose left him there, exiting the bedroom entirely. Theon craned his neck to look down the hallway, but he couldn’t see much from where he was sitting.

Roose returned fairly quickly. Theon looked quite confused. In all the time that he’d been with Roose, he had only seen the first floor, the master bedroom, and the bathroom. That was it. They never went anywhere else in the house until now, and Theon hadn’t even gone with him. He probably thought the rest of the place was empty. 

“Roll over,” Roose said. “On your stomach, and spread your legs.”

Theon obeyed with minimal hesitation, but a command like that had him nervous. “Ser?” he tried to say, but Roose was circling around to the bedside table to grab something from the drawer. He cast a quick glare in Theon’s direction to show that his questions weren’t welcome. 

The only things Roose kept in that bedside drawer were lubricant and a pen and pad. It was fairly obvious which he was going for. The fear that gripped Theon was sudden and Roose could sense it. He had not had a very good experience the last time Roose broke out the lube, it was no wonder he was startled. 

“Relax.” Roose scolded him. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

That was the truth, too. Roose went back to the foot of the bed and took in the sight of his slave on his belly with his legs spread wide. He was cuter on all fours, but Roose didn’t mind this either. Theon had a habit of sitting up on his elbows so he could look over his shoulder at things and that was precisely what he was doing now.

“We’re going to work on stretching you open, so that sex is less painful in the future,” Roose explained to him. He did not owe Theon any explanations, but this would be an important part in getting him to the point that he could actually be a sex slave instead of just some burden of a human who needed to be bathed and fed every day. It was important that he understood what they were doing and why, but it didn’t really matter whether he wanted to be doing it or not. 

“Stretching?” Theon repeated. “...is it. Will that hurt?”

Roose gave him a slap on the ass. “What have I told you about speaking out of turn?” He scolded the slave. 

Theon hissed in pain. “I’m sorry, ser.” He said. “I didn’t mean to. I… I’m scared is all.” He flushed pink down his back. Theon was scared often, in truth. He liked to clench his jaw and pretend that he wasn’t, but every day he faced something new that he wasn’t sure to make of and Roose saw that things did indeed frighten the boy. It was a surprise to hear him say it out loud, but Roose saw it as a step in the right direction. If he could finally come to terms how he was feeling, he wouldn’t feel so stifled in trying to pretend he wasn’t feeling it. He just needed to work on coming to terms with his feelings quietly instead of aloud.

“You might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt.” Roose told him in exchange for his honesty. There was a difference in those two words, uncomfortable and hurt. Some people tended to lump them together, but being uncomfortable was much more manageable than being hurt. “Now spread your legs wider, boy, and stay quiet.” 

Theon spread his legs even though he was still clearly afraid. 

Roose pressed one of his knees to the bed, leaning over the mattress to get a good clear view of where he would be working. He pulled at one of Theon’s cheeks, exposing his hole. He wasted no time squeezing a gob of lube into it and gently rubbing it in. Theon took that well, but since there was no penetration it was little different than the soft rubbing he got in the bath.

The slave hadn’t seen it, despite trying to look over his shoulder, but Roose had an anal plug in his hand. He’d held it in his palm, not intentionally trying to conceal it, but it was all for the better that Theon hadn’t noticed it. Roose had a set of plugs used for stretching stored in the room next door along with various other items needed for training a slave. It was his personal equipment and he hadn’t used any of it on a slave in a long time but it was all still perfectly viable. 

The plug was thick, black silicone, an inch in diameter and two and a half inches long. It was slender rather than bulbous and it would reach longer rather than stretch wider. Roose himself was sizable in length, and he would need a slave that could take a great deal of cock not width wise but deep within them. That’s what this set of plugs was perfect for. The one he had in his hands was the first of many, smaller than the rest. Theon would know every size until his hole was stretched to perfection. He would not be a tight little virgin any more, which was a genuine shame, but Roose had had his night of pleasure. He wanted a slave he could fuck regularly and virgins weren’t suited for that. 

“Remember all that time you spent relaxing on my office floor?” Roose asked him as he squeezed lubricant on the plug. He coated it thoroughly. 

“Yes, ser,” Theon said. 

“Take a moment now to relax. Start with your toes and go up. You’ve done it enough, you know how. I want you to impress me with what you’ve learned.”

Roose watched as Theon lay flat, taking his weight off of his elbows and easing his upper half down on to mattress. He laid his arms by his sides. His toes twitched, and Roose watched the tension ease from his legs. Theon took one big deep breath after another. His fingers twitched, and the tension in his arms went too. His back was relaxed. He seemed to be doing well. Roose was pleased. 

“Good,” he said. He spread Theon’s cheeks with one hand. “Stay just like you are, Theon.”

Roose lined up the soft tip of the plug with Theon’s hole. He pushed gently, and then eased off. Theon made an odd noise, but did not clench. Roose repeated the same action, pressing gently and easing off again. Theon was prepared for the sensation this time and made no noise. He continued to stay relaxed. When Roose pressed against Theon’s hole a third time, he pushed a little deeper, nudging the tight pucker open with the tip of the plug. Theon’s fingers twitched, and he eased tension out of his arm that had started, willing his body to stay relaxed.

“Good,” Roose murmured. “Take a breath, Theon. In and out.”

Theon’s back rose as he filled his lungs with air. As he breathed out, Roose pushed the plug in. It met a little resistance, but Theon’s hole sucked it right up, swallowing even the widest point with ease. Roose was surprised. He thought that might be harder. It seemed all that time Theon had spent nodding off on his office floor had actually amounted to something. It was nice to see their hard work pay off.

Theon made a small noise, something that sounded a little like mmfph. His hole clenched and clenched again around the plug. “Ser?” He whispered. “Fuck. I’m so full.”

“Quiet,” Roose said. He gave the boy a pat on the behind. “You’ve done well, Theon.” 

Theon blinked, and sat up on his elbows. He looked over his shoulder, and it was clear he didn’t understand. “What… happened?” Panic rose in him, and he resisted the urge to twist around on the bed and try to look at his own ass like some dog trying to chase it’s tail. 

“You’ve taken your first plug.” Roose explained. The tapered end of the plug, a big black knot, was sticking out between Theon’s ass cheeks. He gave it a tap with his fingers, and Theon must have felt it inside of him because his eyes went wide. 

“A plug?” He repeated the word in horror. “It’s… there’s something in me?”

Roose remembered then that Theon had thought he wasn’t a virgin because he had fucked girls before he ended up with the Greatjon. Look at him now, with no idea what a plug was. His cluelessness was almost endearing. Roose did not smile, but he might have were he someone else. “Yes,” he said. “There is something inside of you. You’ll be wearing one of these every day from here on out until you’re wide enough to take me without discomfort. How does it feel, boy?” Since his fingers were already close enough, Roose gave the tail end of the plug a wiggle. 

Theon’s hand flew back to stop him. “I have to wear this to bed?” he asked, horrified. 

Roose slapped him hard on the ass, at least doing the courtesy of landing the blow on the soft flesh of his cheeks and nowhere near the black plug. One slap was not enough, though - he spanked the slave again and then again. “When I ask you a question, you answer it, not interrupt with your own.” Roose scolded him, delivering one more harsh slap. When he was finished, Theon was squirming. 

“Big!” he said loudly, stammering out the answer. “It feels… too big. It feels like I’m full, or I have to go to the bathroom.” He blushed bright red and turned to hide his face a little. “Fuck, ser. I hate it. It hurts. It’s too big. Please, can you take it out, ser?”

“No,” Roose told him plainly. He went to wipe the excess lubricant off his fingers on a towel in the bathroom and when he returned Theon had his face hidden in his hands and he was taking one deep breath after another. He thought of consoling the slave, and reminding him that this would make it easier for him in the long run, but then again Theon should be able to go through that rational on his own. Roose shouldn’t have to spend his time consoling a sex slave every other moment. 

Roose turned back the covers and made Theon crawl to him. They curled up the same as they always did, and this time Roose pressed his soft cock against the hard knot of silicone sticking out of Theon’s ass. Theon didn’t care for that very much, it was clear. He put as much distance between them as they could without being scolded. 

Roose turned out the light and lay listening to Theon’s breath. It did not deepen in any way that indicated sleep, and for the first time Roose nodded off before the slave did. 

In the middle of the night, Roose could not guess the time, he woke to the sound of the slave whispering. 

“Ser,” Theon was saying in a tiny voice. He had turned over to face Roose, and his arms were bent up between them, fingers touching Roose’s chest. “Ser, please I can’t sleep.” He whispered. “The plug, it… it’s starting to hurt. It burns. I’m so tired I… I want to go to sleep. Please can we take it out?”

“Turn over and close your eyes, Theon,” Roose ordered. Even half-awake, he managed to hit that ominous tone of warning that sent Theon following through. The slave turned over, and Roose thought he heard the boy crying, but in the end fell back asleep before he could decipher the sounds. 

In the morning, when Roose woke, Theon was awake as well. That was odd, because usually the slave liked the extra little bit of sleep he got while Roose was in the shower. Roose ignored him, and turned off the alarm clock and got out of bed. 

“Ser,” Theon said, pushing himself to sit up a little. He looked terrible. He looked like he hadn’t slept. His eyes were red, and his face was tired. “I have to ...go.”

Roose knew the slave was lying. Ser, may I please use the restroom were the words Theon was supposed to say if he in fact needed to go to the bathroom. He had not once failed to use that phrase since he’d learned it… until now. On top of that, he always went before they left anyway. Why the need to announce it now? It didn’t seem like he couldn’t wait a few minutes until Roose was done showering. It seemed like he was miserable from having worn a plug in his ass for the night and he wanted an excuse to take it out.

Roose stared at Theon. He was disappointed.

“You’ve never lied to me before, Theon,” he said, realizing as much as he spoke. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed and reached out to rest a hand on the slaves legs, over the blanket. Theon looked concerned and opened his mouth to speak. He might have gone on to claim that he wasn’t lying, but Roose saved him from digging himself into that hole any deeper. “Do you remember when you were paddled?” Roose asked him.

Theon swallowed. “Yes, ser.” He said.

“Do you remember that the slave you failed to advise me in taking care of was being punished for lying?” Getting caught where he wasn’t allowed to be and lying to be precise, but Roose focused on the important aspect here.

Theon frowned. He might have forgotten that, but he remembered it now. “Yes, ser.”

Roose continued with his questions. “Do you remember how many swats he was meant to receive from that paddle before we put it to use?”

“…a lot.” Theon whispered. He couldn’t remember, but he remembered being horrified by the number.

“A lot.” Roose was unimpressed with Theon’s memory. 

“Fifty,” he reminded. “In my opinion, that was being kind. If you’re caught lying to me, I would give you fifty lashes with a riding crop instead of a gentle wooden paddle. Have you ever felt one of those before, boy? They leave welts as big as your fist and cut flesh as clean as a knife can. I’m going to ask you, and you’re going to answer honestly, do you really have to go to the bathroom?”

Fear had risen through the slave at Roose’s words. He hadn’t realized how much trouble he’d gotten himself into until just then. Theon shook his head no and did not speak. 

Roose reached out for the boy’s chin, grasping his jaw. “Lie to me again, and I will use a riding crop on you, I promise you that. Not just the soft flesh of your behind, but on your cock and balls too.” 

Theon’s brow furrowed at the thought. He didn’t know the pain of a riding crop, so he could scarcely imagine what that would feel like, but clearly he had some idea. Roose left him to picture it further, unhanding Theon’s face and disappearing into the bathroom.

Theon did not look any less upset by the time Roose was dressed and ready.

“I’m sorry I tried to lie,” he said to Roose as he hobbled along to the bathroom. He was clearly afraid that Roose was still angry, and he wanted to say something to save face.

Roose reached out to grab the back of his neck and squeeze gently. “I’m sorry, too,” he admitted. Theon really had disappointed him. “I don’t have time for a slave who needs constant punishments to keep him in line, Theon. I spent a great deal of money on you, and I would be incredibly displeased if you proved not to be worth the investment. Do better, or I will find a way to make my money back, even if that includes selling you.”

Theon bowed his head, flushing with shame.

Roose had no intention of selling Theon, but at the same time he wasn't the type of man to make idle threats. Just because he had no intention of selling the slave did not mean he wouldn't do it if pushed.

“And remember that you’re not to speak unless spoken to, even if it’s an apology.” Roose gave him a mean swat on the ass that sent Theon stumbling forward into the bathroom. 

The slave's fingers shook as he brushed his teeth. It was almost as if he couldn’t do anything right this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading. free free to comment below or send me an [ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) and we can discuss #ThrooseSlavefic together on tumblr :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one last rough week for theon before things start to improve! (well. kinda. haha) also, quick reminder about the tags and that they're all still relevant in this chapter. i've added whipping, belt whipping, crying, and hurt/comfort. 
> 
> i want to say thank you to my beautiful beta subwaywolf. when i first met him on the innernette he had (and still has) the coolest blog i had ever seen and he was so awesome n chill. once i got to know him, he turned out to be a big fucking nerd. he's absolutely the smartest guy i know and he is so much more knowledgeable than i am. without him this fic never would have been written, finished, or polished so nicely. thank you for lending me all your skills and intelligence. this would just be weird porn without you, subwaywolf. but together we wrote a fucking story. how 'bout that. :')

Theon was limping again, although this time it was because of the plug still inside of him and not from the pain of having lost his virginity. Roose almost felt as if they were right back to where they had started. He corrected Theon, and the slave did try and walk with better posture and less of a bow-legged gate, but he was an utter mess at it. Roose had to remind himself that he would get better with more time spent wearing the plug and more practice walking with one in.

At the training facility, Theon barely ate his breakfast. He stood in position all morning but his eyes kept closing and his chin kept dropping to his chest. He had barely slept the night before, and it was clear that his body was exhausted. Roose was constantly distracted by seeing Theon start and suddenly lift his head, pretending as though he hadn’t been nodding off. 

Roose didn’t take pity on the boy, so much as need him out of his peripheral view less he get anything done. He made Theon kneel under his desk, and let the slave rest his head against Roose’s thighs. Theon was sleeping in no time. He twitched and made unhappy noises as he dosed. When he got too loud, Roose reached down to stroke his long black hair, showing him a kind touch to make him relax and quiet down again.

Theon was still red-eyed and tired by lunch, but at least he was hungry. He ate from Roose’s fingers, obedient and submissive. Maybe a good deal of discomfort is what Theon really needed to obey? He was cheeky when he was happy and he liked to talk out of turn or try and suck up to Roose. Roose disliked that. He much preferred Theon like this instead and wondered if there wasn’t something he could do after Theon’s training with the plugs was done to keep the slave in this constant state of discomfort.

Roose considered. There were vices for testicles, but he found the purple color they induced unsightly. There were metal and plastic chastity devices that would see Theon’s thick cock squashed to a much smaller size. Roose didn’t care for those either, in truth. He considered ginger root, but that wasn’t as useful for long term. Still, he would have to try that with Theon. The boy would misbehave sometime, Roose had no doubt about that, and a good figging would be an interesting punishment. There were enemas, too, but Roose found them more practical than punishing.

When Theon was finished eating he crawled right up to Roose’s side, and lay his head in his owner’s lap again. He was miserable. His demeanor did not improve at all, not even when they returned home at the end of the day. Theon was usually more relaxed when they were out of the facility; Roose as well. In this case, he simply remained miserable. He ate dinner, but he only ate a little compared what he usually did. When he was no longer hungry he laid his head on Roose’s lap again as Roose finished the plate. Roose had little pity for the slave and conceded to ignore his nuzzling and moping.

They went directly up for Theon’s bath after eating but instead of starting the water like he usually did Roose sat on the edge of the tub and beckoned Theon to come lay over his knee. The slave was too slow. “Hurry up, boy.” Roose scolded him. “Or I’ll leave that plug in for your bath after all.”

Theon lit up. “You’re… You’re taking it out?” He realized. He nearly laughed with delight. “Thank you, ser.”

For a terrible moment Roose thought the slave was going to try and hug him. Instead Theon draped himself into position, laying over Roose’s lap. He’d learned it well from every inspection he’d received up until now. He had been embarrassed by the position at first but now Theon leaned into with grace.

Roose found the black knot, sticking out against Theon’s pale-and-pink skin. The bright color from the paddling had left, but Theon was constantly getting spanked for one infraction or the other, and it was rare to find him without at least one big handprint on his ass. Roose reached for the tail end of the plug and gave it a gentle tug. Theon misliked that, clearly. Roose tugged harder, surprised at how tightly Theon’s body was holding on to the intrusive silicone.

“It hurts, ser.” Theon gasped.

Roose did not stop pulling, and just as the resistance met its toughest point the plug popped free.

Theon’s hole that had once been tight now gaped, just a little. The slave clenched and found nothing filling the space, and all at once he was closed; pinched up tightly again. He was not as tight as he had been before; there was a change. It was small, but the plug had done its job. Roose rubbed Theon backside with the hand that wasn’t holding the plug, feeling slightly satisfied at seeing some result to all of Theon’s misery.

Theon was perfectly happy in the bath, and he didn’t even mind Roose standing over him to watch him go to the bathroom when they were done. After wearing the plug for over twenty four hours, it was good to make sure everything was still working smoothly. Theon did blush an impossible shade of red though, not just in his chest and ears like usual but across his face too.

When the slave was dry, and his hair and teeth were brushed, Roose lead him to the bed to sit and wait while he returned the plug to the other room. Theon cluelessly went to curl up on top of the covers, ready to go to sleep as soon as Roose returned. He was too happy to realize that his experience wearing plugs was not ending tonight, or any time soon. When Roose returned with another fat black silicone plug Theon sat up all at once and drew his knees in, like he could hide himself by being smaller.

“You’re putting it back in?” He asked, realizing this as he spoke. 

Theon had not seen the first plug, really. He’d felt it stretching him open for a day and a night, but he hadn’t gotten a good look at it. He didn’t know that the plug Roose had in his hands was bigger. Not much bigger, but when he felt it inside of him stretching him wider than the last one had, he would know.

Roose’s frustration flared a little, though it did not show. “You are not to speak unless spoken to.” He reminded the slave, coldly.

Theon realized all at once he’d done wrong but did not apologize less he get in worse trouble than he was already in. He bowed his head, and his ears turned pink.

“Get on your hands and knees.” Roose ordered, and although his voice was quiet his words were sharp and severe. He tossed the plug on the bed and began to undo his belt, sliding the long strip of leather from the loops around his waist.

Theon swallowed fearfully. He did not want to move, but he hurried to obey anyway, attempting to show that he could be obedient. He got on all fours and crawled to the center of the bed where he knew his owner would want him. He was facing the headboard but stared down at the bed spread, too afraid to even lift his head.

Roose grasped the belt buckle in his palm and wrapped the leather of his belt around his hand. When he was satisfied with the length he had loose, he stepped up to the bed. “Fifty lashes.” He explained patiently.

Theon’s jaw dropped. “Oh god,” he whispered, so far under his breath he must have thought he wouldn’t be heard. He was wrong. With a quick flash of a movement, the belt whipped across Theon’s backside, lighting it up with a bright strip of red. 

Theon screamed.

“Sixty, for continuing to speak.” Roose decided. “Scream again, and it’s a hundred.”

All at once, he began.

Roose did not make Theon count because the boy was learning a lesson about staying quiet. Roose decided not to count out loud either. With how much pain he would be in it was unlikely that Theon would be able to keep up with the number in his head. Roose didn’t include the first lash, and so the first one of the punishment and Theon’s second of the night began with another loud crack. 

Theon did not scream, but his whole body was set on edge like he’d been struck by lightning. Roose could see he was biting his lip and squeezing his eyes. His hands were white-knuckled fists in the blankets. Roose cracked the belt again, and then again, and he barely made it to five before the slave began to lose his composure. 

Tears of pain had begun streaming down Theon’s face involuntarily. His elbows trembled, as if unable to hold up his weight. Or maybe his muscles were so tight, anticipating each next sting of the belt, that he could do little else than tremble? With every lash Theon received, he jolted forward, and before long he was faced with the headboard. Roose had barely reached ten.

“Crawl back into place.” Roose scolded him, and he would have accented his words with a whip of the belt if he thought it would make Theon move any faster.

The slave was stiff, and he winced in pain as he moved. He did not attempt to disobey. He was resigned to his fate.

A belt was an odd thing to use for a spanking. Roose had perfectly good whips and floggers and crops and paddles at his disposal but he had gone for his belt simply because it had been readily available. Roose was good with it though. He would have been better with an actual item used for whippings, but he knew the nuances of making a belt work. 

Belts tended to wrap around the soft curve of slave’s backsides if one was not careful. This would end up with brunt of the pain landing on a slave’s hip instead of the soft flesh of their behind. It was very easy to be careless with a belt during such lengthy punishments. Roose had to take his time, and aim accordingly. This drew out Theon’s punishment, but Roose knew it would be better for him to take the pain on his ass cheeks instead of his hip bones. It may not seem like kindness, but it was.

Theon’s ass went from pink, to red, to purple, becoming quite the target. A trembling target. The boy would not stop shaking. Roose realized he was crying deeply, and he saw the tears drip from Theon’s face to the bedspread turning the dark red of it an ever darker color. Roose did not stop. He spread the brutal lashes out, aiming further down the backs of Theon’s thighs. This didn’t give the slave’s behind a break so much as show him a new kind of pain.

Theon made it to nearly fourty, over half of the punishment, when one rough snap of the belt sent Theon collapsing face first on the bedspread. He pushed himself up on trembling arms only to fall again, unable to get back into position.

Roose waited.

The slave let out a sob of frustration. He struggled to get his knees under him so he could get back into position. He wanted to show that he could behave and do as he was told. If he had it his way of course they would end the punishment right then and there and he wouldn’t have to push himself any further. This wasn’t about getting what he wanted, though. This was about what Roose wanted. This was about showing Roose he could do what Roose wanted him to. This was about showing Roose he was worth keeping around. His mistake of talking out of turn had been silly and small, and Theon knew better. He was a better slave than that. If he wanted Roose to know that, he would have to push himself harder now than he ever had before. Theon fought the urge to give in and give up and he struggled back onto his hands and knees. He locked his elbows into place, trying his hardest to stop trembling.

Good, Roose thought as he snapped the belt again. He continued with the punishment, cracking the leather just as hard against Theon’s backside as before. The slave could take it. He was pushing himself this hard to show that he could and so Roose would give it all to him.

Theon was a sobbing mess by sixty, of course. He was bleeding too; the belt had cut into his skin and spots of red grew, beading up over his flesh. He wasn’t cut deep enough anywhere for the blood to run, but his ass was colored in dark purple and the with glints of wet, fresh blood spotting it all over.

"It’s done," Roose told him, after the last painful snap of leather. Of course Theon couldn’t have kept up with how many times he’d felt the force of the belt. He didn’t know they were done until Roose said it.

He collapsed in earnest, sobbing into the bedspread. Though his chest heaved and his body shook and great big tears squeezed from his closed eyes, he made no sounds except for desperate gasping and the occasional choking when his sobs overtook him.

Roose abandoned the belt on the floor and found the plug, still sitting on the bed. The slave didn’t even notice his owner walk to the bedside table to retrieve lube. It seemed as if he didn’t notice his legs being pushed apart either.

Roose did the boy the courtesy of lubing him up first. Theon cried harder when Roose parted his cheeks, the touch was probably agony after the whipping he had received. When Roose thrust two wet fingers in he found that Theon was pliant and open. His hole was still tight, but the previous plug had done it’s job. His body could not have clenched up to resist him anyhow; the slave was spent. He had used all his strength to see the punishment through to the end and now he was limp.

The plug, though bigger, went in just as easily as Roose’s two fingers had. Theon’s unresistant hole swallowed the whole thing, sucking the entire plug within him. His cries continued, unhindered, as if he had not felt the object enter him at all. 

Roose disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a warm, wet wash cloth. He wiped away the blood, rubbing gently over the abused skin on Theon’s cheeks. The slave continued crying, his sobs harder than ever. The blood turned the white wash cloth pink, and immediately it bubbled up in dark red beads as soon as Roose wiped it away. It was best if he revisited tomorrow with something anti-bacterial once it started to heal a little.

Roose folded the washcloth, hiding the red stains. He pushed the slave’s shoulder up, and revealed Theon’s face. It was bright red from crying, and there were veins pulsing in his neck. He was wet all over with salty tears. Roose rubbed the mess of wetness away with the cloth.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" He asked. "You see how this works, boy? I asked you a question and you answer."

"I’m sorry," Theon sobbed all at once. His hands that had been fisted in the sheets reached out desperately for Roose. Theon grabbed handfuls of his owners clothes, groveling. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m bad. I don’t mean to be. I’m sorry."

Roose let him cry a little while longer, but soon enough the slave didn’t have any tears left and it was just his body convulsing. Eventually that tired him out as well, and his body ceased to shake.

Roose left him there for a moment and he cleaned up the mess they had made. He wiped the blood from his belt and put it away. He put the washcloth in the hamper. He cleaned the lube from his fingers and put it away in the bedside drawer. He stripped down to his boxers and pushed back the covers. Roose had to scoop Theon up into his arms and gently place him on the corner of the bed where the duvet had been pulled back. The slave had been tapped out and still until then when he began crying all at once. The change of position must have been painful.

Roose curled up with him. Instead of spooning him like usual, he let Theon nuzzle into his chest, which the slave did willingly. He tried to keep his sobbing to himself and failed.

“I have no interest in punishing you, Theon,” Roose whispered to him. He liked to tease the boy, and humiliating him to make him blush was fun, but this was different. This was exhausting. He grabbed a handful of the boy’s hair and tugged, turning the slave’s face up to meet his. He stared down at the slave, still red faced and tearful. “It’s a waste of both of our time. Behave, and you won’t have to endure any punishment.”

Roose thought that would help console Theon some, not that he was particularly interested in consoling anyone. Instead Theon seemed to break, and he moaned through another sob, crying hard. “I’m sorry I’m so bad,” he gasped, choking on his words.

“I never said you were bad,” Roose corrected him. Theon misbehaved a lot, but all in all he wasn’t bad. Roose had certainly handled worse than him, and he’d dealt with obedient slaves that he had enjoyed far less.

Theon’s chin trembled and he made an awfully unsightly face while crying. He was too gone to care what he looked like. His emotions consumed him. “The Starks thought I was bad.” He whispered, hiccupping and gasping. “Companions are supposed to sound smart. They thought I sounded like an idiot. They never said it, but I knew it was true. They hated me. And, and now I can’t do anything right with you either.”

Roose considered. That made sense. At least to why Theon thought he was allowed to speak so often when he knew he wasn’t. Companions were trained to be perfect little talking boxes with the right answer for everything. Most of them had little to no brains in their heads, and making conversation with them was about as dull as talking to a wall, but that’s what they were trained to do. Roose couldn’t imagine Theon excelling at that in any capacity, and it was clear that he hadn’t. Still. What Ned Stark had taught him didn’t matter anymore, and Theon needed to realize that. Any behavioral ties kept to his previous training needed to be severed.

“Look at me,” Roose commanded, giving Theon’s hair another gentle tug. The slave’s eyes were bleary, but he blinked the tears away and he tried to look. Though his cries had quieted some, his expression was that of a man about to burst into sobs. Roose had no doubt he would. “You’re not a companion anymore. You are a sex slave. You’re not a bad slave. You are a disobedient slave with the potential to be better. I saw you push yourself to prove your obedience, Theon. I know you can do as you’re told. You are not Ned Stark’s any longer. You are mine. Do you understand?”

More tears spilled from Theon’s eyes, but he nodded. He understood. Roose unhanded the slave’s long black hair and smoothed it down, stroking it kindly. Slaves responded better when given kind touches after a punishment. Roose grasped Theon close to him, and continued petting him kindly until his tears stopped falling, and the tension eased out of his shoulders. 

Only when the slave’s breath evened out into deep sleep did Roose turn out the light and allow himself to go to sleep too. Roose sometimes thought of how many days were left before Ramsay returned home, but tonight he fell asleep focused on Theon and nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! feel free to comment below, or you can send me an [ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr and we can talk about the #ThrooseSlavefic together :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little chapter update! no new tags. but all the things that have already been tagged are still relevant. 
> 
> and a little thank u to my beta subwaywolf. thank u for all ur hard work. u r a good wolf, a good friend, a good beta reader, and a good guy all around. (´▽`ʃƪ)♡ bless u thank u

Theon slept fitfully. He tossed and turned in the night and whimpered in his sleep. He was awake when Roose got up, though he turned over and lay still in bed, silent and solemn as Roose left him to go shower. He clambered awkwardly out of bed when summoned to the bathroom, and although he walked stiffly and slowly, it was clear he was trying to use his best posture. Roose complimented him on it.

Roose had Theon lay over his knee, and he took his time cleaning the small cuts the slave had received during his punishment. There were welts in Theon’s cheeks that had swollen in the night, and it gave his ass a lumpy and misshapen look. Not to mention an awful color. The slave was literally black and blue with ghastly greens in some places and tallow yellows in others. Roose was gentle; he used cotton swabs and hydrogen peroxide instead of a rag and pure stinging disinfectant. Theon suffered through and only whimpered a little. In the end, when his cuts were cleaned, it was all for the better.

Theon actually sat in the car on the way to the training facility, and even though his jaw was clenched and tears sprang immediately to his eyes, he sat. He dug his nails into the armrests of the passenger seat and he suffered through it. Roose complimented him on that as well, and the slave seemed almost relieved to hear that one soft word. ‘Good.’

Theon ate right out of Roose’s hand for breakfast and lunch. He stood in place over Roose’s desk without nodding off once, but he was red-eyed and he looked desperately tired so Roose allowed him to kneel down under the desk. Theon lay his head in Roose’s lap and slept fitfully for a little while before returning to position. A few trainers came in to sort out business with Roose, and each one of them pretended not to see the brutal bruising on Theon’s backside. Theon was perfectly quiet the entire day, and did not speak out of turn once. Roose enjoyed the peaceful bliss of his silence.

Around lunchtime Roose had noticed that Theon was looking awfully pale, and his chest seemed to shine with sweat. By the time they were home, his dark hair was damp. He barely ate dinner, but Roose could see him forcing down the food that he was offered.

“In pain?” He surmised.

Theon swallowed, and nodded, and bowed his head in submission. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wasn’t going to deny the truth either.

Roose gave him two units of over-the-counter ibuprofen, and instead of taking a bath like they usually did, they curled up in the couch. Theon laid on his belly with his face pressed to Roose’s thigh, and Roose stroked his damp hair. The painkillers put Theon to sleep, so Roose carried him to bed. They could forgo a bath for one night, even if he had gotten a little sweaty.

For the second night in a row Roose forgot about Ramsay’s return and thought only of Theon.

In the middle of the night Theon woke up. “Ser,” he whispered in a small voice. “Ser, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“What is it, Theon?” Roose asked him, sitting up.

“May I please go to the restroom, ser?” Theon asked, embarrassed.

Roose got up and helped walk him there as he was a little unsteady on his feet after having laid down after dinner and half the night. His legs were stiff, and he had to reacquaint himself with the pain of walking. In the blindingly bright white light of the bathroom Roose extracted the plug. He cleaned it while Theon went to the bathroom. Sitting was painful for him, but he managed. Roose complimented him, and although he was still embarrassed, Theon seemed grateful to hear the praise.

When he was finished, Theon fully expected to have the plug reinserted but Roose decided against it. “Tomorrow morning.” He said instead, and Theon’s relief was obvious.

“Thank you, ser.” He whispered earnestly. He reached out for Roose’s hand to use him as a crutch to walk back to the bed. Roose noticed the slave squeezing his fingers gently, in a way that he supposed was an extra sort of thank you.

They curled up together and Theon slept well. 

For the second day in a row Theon’s behavior was improved. He took the plug in the morning without hesitation or even so much as a groan of discontent. He did his best with his posture and composure. He sat whenever and wherever Roose told him to, despite his ass still being bruised and misshapen. He ate from Roose’s hands, much hungrier than he had been yesterday, and since he’d slept well enough for most of the night, he didn’t need to curl up under Roose’s desk and rest his head. Best of all, he didn’t talk out of turn.

As a reward for his good behavior, Roose gave the boy a tepid bath. He was shivering towards the end, but at least that way he didn’t have to contend with steaming hot water on his belt-whipped behind. The cuts were still healing and his flesh was still raw. The soap stung, Roose could tell, but Theon didn’t complain. When his bath was done, they hurried with brushing his hair and teeth and went straight to bed. Theon snuggled into Roose, still shivering. He entangled their legs, trying to seek out his owner’s warmth. His toes were cold, but Roose let him do as he liked.

Theon spent the entire week on his best behavior. He received a new plug, a slightly larger size, each night. Roose could tell that the boy hated wearing them but never complained, likely because he knew he’d get another whipping if he so much as batted an eye the wrong way. On Sunday, Roose let the slave go the full day without wearing one. Theon stretched and ran laps around the house and he seemed happy to get rid of the energy, but it was clear he was still in pain from his punishment.

On Sunday evening, after a nice, warm bath, Theon got into position on the bed and Roose reinserted the plug he’d been wearing the day before. They had reached the biggest size in this specific series of plugs, and Theon would go on wearing the same one for a while. He must have realized it, because after a moment of not feeling the pain that usually came with being stretched he wiggled his behind and made a face. “Ser?”

“Theon.” It was a little early for bed, so Roose had decided to read. Theon curled up on top of the covers at his side. 

Roose had decided to allow Theon the luxury of asking if he could ask questions. ‘Ser, may I ask a question’ was what he was supposed to say when he wanted to know something. Roose usually told him ‘No, you may not.’, but it was better than constant outbursts and subsequent punishment. Hopefully when he realized that his questions weren’t going to be answered Theon would begin to stop wanting to ask them at all. It was a work in progress, and a means to an end.

“How come it doesn’t feel very big?” Theon asked. He was choosing his words carefully, not wanting to get caught questioning his owner.

“You’ve worn that plug before,” Roose informed him. “You’ll be getting very familiar with that size.”

Theon didn’t understand, but he said, “Oh,” and nodded.

“That’s the largest plug you’ll have to take for now. You’ll be wearing it until your bruises heal.” Roose decided to tell him. He wasn’t obligated to inform Theon of anything, but slaves did tend to be more obedient when they had a fuller understanding of things. Sometimes it took seeing a bigger picture to understand the part they were playing in it. A good slave was obedient no matter how much they knew, but there was no harm in telling Theon a little.

“Could… May I ask a question?” Theon asked, hopefully.

Roose thought carefully. “You may.” The slave had just asked one, but Roose wasn’t annoyed yet so he allowed for this to continue a few moments longer..

“What are plugs for? Are they… punishment... Did I do something?” He flushed a little, likely remembering something he’d done wrong that Roose hadn’t scolded him for.

Technically that was two questions, so Roose decided only to address the first. “They’re for stretching,” he informed dutifully. He knew that answer wasn’t the one Theon wanted to hear. Roose reached out and brushed some of the boy’s bangs away. He would need a haircut soon. Not much, just a trim. Roose did like the boy’s hair long. “Be quiet, now.”

Theon nodded, accepting that that was all he was going to get, and snuggled in to Roose’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment if u like or u can always hit up my [ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask)!


	11. PART II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone who's been reading and commenting and sending me messages! :) thanks for being patient too! i appreciate all of you
> 
> some of you guys may have noticed that this chapter is titled "PART II". this is where the fic switches gears a little bit. the first part was about the initial details of theon's training, living with roose, and just in general theon being unhappy. the second part will be about the larger world of slavery, roose's part as trainer in this very large world, and theon being less unhappy! wowee! (in my head i've been literally referring to them as the part where theon is sad and the part where theon is less sad. so. lol) i hope you guys enjoy part two!
> 
> reminder that all the tags are still relevant, especially objectification. some new characters have been added, but this update is mostly world building instead of sex stuff. tho there's still some sex stuff. also this fic does not paint a kind or decent picture of wyman manderly. if you saw his name in the tags and clicked this fic for him, go ahead and turn back now. 
> 
> and of course a big thank you to my amazing beta subwaywolf. when i was writing this fic, and it was stretching long into 50k and 60k he asked to read it, to tackle part of it, so that it wouldn't be so tough to get through. i was scared that if i let someone see it and analyze it before i was done i would never finish. this guy let me write the whole damn thing and send him 90 fucking k at once. can you believe?? and he did it. he read the whole fucking thing too. i'm such an asshole, and i don't deserve him. thank you so much subwaywolf. not just for helping me edit this, but for doing it my way. even when that way was probably like the worst most stressful way possible lmao.

Theon’s obedience, while not overlooked, was great for when they were alone together, but the real test would be when Theon was in the presence of others. It didn’t take long before Theon was given an opportunity to impress Roose.

“We have visitors today,” Roose explained after breakfast on Monday morning.

Roose sold his slaves at auctions all over the North, and occasionally at showcases. Every few years he had an open house where he invited prominent slave owners to come visit the training facility. During the open house he held an auction right inside the facility, but other than that Roose did not sell out-of-house very often. 

Sometimes he was contacted by men who were interested in his slaves, who wanted a look around, who didn’t have the patience to wait for an in-house auction to come up. If they could afford it, Roose was happy to invite them in to see the inner workings of his training facility. They could pick one ready-to-sell slave to purchase if they liked what they saw.

Roose was not particularly interested in the hassle of showing off the training facility but when someone with enough money like Wyman Manderly wanted to visit, it was hard to say no. Besides, Wyman was too fat to walk far without a great big cane and gasping breaths. He wouldn’t be interested in seeing the place, just in the slaves Roose had to offer. Roose had a business to run and as much as he disliked the man, a Bolton slave in the midst of a family like the Manderlys was nothing to turn his nose up at.

Theon had been moved from his usual position facing Roose’s desk and was instead given the honor of standing beside Roose. The slave seemed nervous. Roose didn’t mind a few nerves.

Roose gave him reminders about good behavior: “Don’t speak unless spoken to. Obey commands. Be polite to my guests. You should know how to represent your owner. Show me you can do well, Theon, and I’ll reward you.” 

“Yes, ser,” the slave said with a nod. 

He stood at Roose’s side with his wrists crossed behind his back, clearly apprehensive. He chewed his lip and stared at the floor and waited and waited, and finally when there was a knock on the door, he nearly jumped in surprise. 

Wyman was late. Roose tried not to be annoyed. 

Wyman Manderly was an older man, wider around the middle than he was tall. His sons Wylis and Wendel followed him everywhere; grown men who were equally as large as their father. The lot of them were trailed by two other men who made no impression whatsoever. They could have been family, or colleagues, or companions, or god knows what else. They were completely uninteresting. The whole lot of them were completely uninteresting, if Roose was being honest, but at least the Manderly’s weight was distinguishing.

Roose greeted Wyman from behind his desk, where he promptly stood as the large man struggled inside. It was a good thing Roose’s office was large, or else it might not fit all three Manderly’s comfortably. 

“Bolton!” Wyman greeted in a loud bellow. “How longs it been?”

“Since the showcase at Ramsgate,” Roose reminded.

The showcase at Ramsgate had been a fair few months back, and Roose remembered it because it had been an odd showing. He normally only appeared at showcases that were specific to sex slaves, but Ramsgate was so close to home he decided to head out for the all-vocation show. The amount of prominent trainers who had been showing at Ramsgate made it impossible to say no. What would it look like if every trainer and training company from here to Dorne showed up with slaves and Roose sat at home? Roose had gone, begrudgingly, and he had found the showcase a waste of time. He didn’t get any immediate business from it, and the cost of travel had been ridiculous.

Roose remembered talking to Wyman there. Wyman had gone huffing around the showroom, struggling to walk before half the morning had gone by. The Manderly’s trained naval slaves, and since Ramsgate was in his backyard, Wyman had brought more than necessary. The lot of them were brisk young men with muscles and smiles and boyish faces. They were well trained, could form up impressively, and they had a strong look to them. There was no need for a hundred of them wandering the show floor in their blue and green sailor outfits, though.

Wyman had spent his time drooling over the sex slaves at the Ramsgate showcase and little else. He had his hands all over the scantily clad Martell slaves, gorgeous Dornish women with long hair, and long legs who towered over most everyone in the room. There were charming little Tyrell slaves, boys and girls both with cute faces and supple bodies who were trained to laugh and smile and bat their eyes at the men and women who showed interest. They were wearing nothing at all, whereas the Martell slaves at least had a little to cover up with. Wyman had seemed enraptured by the nudity.

There had been Lannister slaves there as well. The Lannisters trained all sorts, and they had a slave to sell for every possible vocation. Roose disliked that, as that cheapened the market. Lannister sex slaves could certainly have sex, but they weren’t trained to the ability that Roose’s slaves were. Sex slaves were just one branch on a tree in the Lannister Corporation.

Roose knew Tywin Lannister, and he had met the man’s children as well. They could care less about the details of training sex slaves… or any type of slave for that matter. They liked money, and they liked pursuing their own interests, and it was a shame that they were allowed to run a faction of their company dedicated to sexual slavery when it was clear that sex slaves meant nothing to them.

Lannister slaves certainly were pretty though, fair haired and light eyed; Adonises, the lot of them. Even the ones that weren’t sold for sex still matched in hair and eye color. They usually came clasped in gold cuffs and gold collars, and the ones allowed to wear clothes were decked out in rich, extravagant gold-and-red fabrics. Wyman had had his hands all over the them; the sex slaves had been stripped down to just their collar and cuffs to the large man’s delight.

The Baratheon’s had been there. Robert was too busy heading up the main training facility back at Storm’s End, but his younger brother Renly paraded their soldier-slaves through the show floor impressing everyone with their muscles. Stark had still been in business then as well, and Stark companions circled the floor in their drab greys and solemn expressions. How a man could train the personality out of a slave, Roose did not know. He wished he knew the secret, because it might make dealing with his own stock easier. Then again, a lifeless sex slave didn’t sell very well. Apparently it hadn’t worked out for Ned Stark either, as he was no longer in business.

Roose’s slaves had not particularly stood out amongst the others at the show. He had only brought a handful with him, young men in red leather collars, but with the amount of trainers who had only brought a handful, Roose blended in with the rest. Wyman had certainly found him, though; the man had tunnel vision when it came to sex slaves, it seemed. He hadn’t given the impression of interest, necessarily; more so of a man taking up the opportunity to grope and fondle naked boys while he had the chance.

Except here he was in Roose’s office. Interested.

“What can I do for you, Wyman?” Roose asked.

Wyman sat heavily in one of two large armchairs Roose had in his office. It was meant to be a big comfortable seat, but Wyman took up the whole of it. It looked like he might bust the sides. Roose took the opportunity to return to sitting in his own office chair. The larger of Wyman’s sons sat next to his father, while the rest of the men in the Manderly’s company stood behind the two leather seats.

Wyman got an eyeful of Theon, and Roose could practically sense the blood rush from across the room. “Who’s this here?” Wyman asked, lighting up with interest.

Theon was staring intently at the floor, but he did shift his gaze towards Roose beside him, wondering if he should speak to introduce himself.

“This is my personal slave,” Roose informed, deciding against giving a name. The less anyone knew about the boy the better.

“Personal slave!” Wendel (or was it Wylis?) laughed. “Can’t you just pick the one you like best from your lot and take him home for the night?”

If that was a joke, it was poor, and if this man actually thought Roose fucked his merchandise before putting it on the market, then the Manderlys were even dumber than Roose had thought. He stared at the man, a cold white stare, and did not say anything for a long time. After the silence had grown slightly uncomfortable Roose said “no” so quietly, it was almost as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Well don’t be shy, boy. Come let us have a look at you.” Wyman waved Theon over with a big mit of a hand.

Theon looked to Roose. It was good form for slaves to get permission from their owner before complying with the commands of others. (Unless, of course, their owner gave implicit instruction that another person is in charge.) Theon was not trying to impress anyone with his good form though; he had no idea what to do. He had no interest in getting any closer to Wyman, and Roose didn’t blame him. Still, it would look bad for the both of them if Roose refused Wyman at least a look.

Roose nodded. “Step around to the front of my desk, let them see you.”

Theon went. He didn’t hop-quick to do it, but he went around the right side of Roose’s desk to stand in front of it. Roose got to see the boy from the back, a rarity. Theon was almost always following him, and when he stood at attention he always stood facing Roose. Roose liked the boy’s front better, his cock was bigger than his ass and his face was prettier. Still. He admired the view for a moment. Theon’s wrists were crossed neatly, and his back was muscled, and Roose could just see the bruises from the slave’s punishment before the desk cut off any view of Theon’s behind.

“Quite sizeable, this one.” Wyman said.

Roose did not indicate any agreement. He hadn’t allowed Wyman access here to talk about Theon’s cock. He could see, through the soft sweep of the slave’s lengthy black hair, that Theon’s ears had turned pink.

“Turn around, boy, let’s see the back of you.” Wyman commanded.

Theon turned, stiffly. Instead of looking down, he looked straight at Roose. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed nervously. Roose met Theon’s eyes, his face a passive mask. The slave seemed to find comfort with the eye contact even if Roose’s expression did not read as a comforting one.

“What happened here?” Wylis (or was it Wendel?) asked. He reached out with thick fingers and gave Theon’s tender behind a squeeze, eliciting more pain than any normal grab would because of the bruising and cuts still healing on Theon’s ass cheeks.

Theon clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying not to gasp.

“Please keep your hands to yourself,” Roose requested, not answering the question. “He’s still in training.”

“Bit of a troublemaker, this one?” Wyman guessed. “Or do you like to rough them up a bit, Bolton?” He laughed, along with his sons, boisterous and loud. “Bend over boy, give us a better view.”

Since the first two things Wyman had said hadn’t been directed at Theon, the slave was a little slow to obey, but he did. He bent at the waist and pressed the side of his face to the desk, exposing himself to the Manderlys and their company.

“A plug?” Wyman said in surprise, as the slave’s new position revealed it to them. “That early on in his training, is he?” He reached out with fingers thick as sausages to give the black knot sticking out of Theon’s hole a wiggle.

Theon jolted like a startled animal more than a startled slave, and he stood upright all at once. Wyman startled at the response, snatching his big hand back; his sons balked.

“Please,” Roose reiterated. “Keep your hands to yourself. He’s still in training.” It was like talking to a brick wall. “He hasn’t yet learned how to behave around others. Forgive him.”

Roose was not disappointed in Theon, it was Wyman and his company that failed to understand one simple request: do not touch. A trained sex slave would not have startled and jumped like Theon had, but as Roose had said, the boy was yet untrained. Theon knew he was supposed to maintain position once he’d taken one, but Roose could not fault the boy for his reaction. He would explain to Theon later that he had done wrong but hopefully the slave would understand that the Manderly’s weren’t exactly in the right either. For now Roose beckoned the slave back around the desk with a finger, and Theon hurried to resume his position at Roose’s side.

“Well,” Wyman turned up his nose. “Good luck with that one, he clearly needs work.”

Theon’s eyebrows furrowed a little, but his face was turned down so hopefully no one noticed.

Roose said nothing. When the silence grew long, the Manderlys glanced at one another and it was Wyman who spoke again.

“I need a few boys, Bolton. To take back to White Harbor,” he said.

“Certainly,” Roose said back. He wasn’t sure to what end this was towards, but he didn’t assume that Wyman, Wylis, or Wendel wanted a sex slave for themselves. It was only an assumption; he could be wrong. Roose’s slaves had ended up in odder places for sure. Something about this didn’t read as a personal endeavor, though. Roose could tell.

“My sailors,” Wyman sighed, and shook his head.

Sailors? Oh, Roose had been wrong. The Manderlys were good at making jokes after all, because that was the biggest one he’d ever heard. Wyman bred naval slaves, not sailors. Sailors were respected and paid in wages. Naval slaves were forced to do the grunt work, and they were paid in food and a slap on the mouth for disobedience. There was a big difference.

“You know how boys are, Roose.”

Roose stared. He preferred being called Bolton, and he was sure that he knew a lot about boys but certainly not what Wyman was getting at.

“Lustful things,” Wyman continued. “We keep them together in barracks for training and they tear each other apart. If they’re not fucking they’re fighting, and if they’re not fighting they’re fucking. I need one of your slaves, at least one but maybe two or three, to help my slaves blow off some steam.”

Roose leaned back in his chair. Well. That was disappointing. “My slaves are not cum dumpsters, Manderly. If you need one of those, I can get you in contact with my waste management company.”

“Now, now.” Manderly shifted his weight, an effort for him, and sighed deeply. “I’ve bought other sex slaves for this purpose before,” he explained. Oh, and the hits just kept coming - Roose wasn’t even his first choice. “Local trainers, at first. Then even a Lannister slave. My lot tore through them like tissue paper. I need a boy who is sturdy, Bolton. A boy who can take cock, and plenty of it. If anyone trains a lasting sex slave, it’s you.”

Flattery was not like to get him anywhere, but this wasn’t quite flattery. Roose was tougher on his slaves than most other trainers. He punished them roughly. He was strict and consistent and thorough. Through this type of training he ended up with higher quality sex slaves. True to what Wyman was getting at, Roose’s slaves were more durable. They were more talented as well, and their talents shouldn’t be going to waste in any way, but they certainly were more durable.

“It will cost you,” Roose said thoughtfully after a moment.

Wyman hesitated. “I can pay.”

Roose thought he might. “I’ll let you have a look around, give you a good idea of which slaves might work for you, and I’ll let you make your choice.” After a beat, he stood.

Wyman shifted his weight, again, but did not move to get up.

“I’d like to see the place, Bolton, but my knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Roose blinked, a passive expression. It didn’t surprise him that Wyman didn’t want a tour, not even a quick one. The man had only come for meat for his slaves to sink their teeth into.

“You’re welcome to stay here, of course,” Roose told him. Wendel and Wylis and the two men with them were on their feet, so Roose would give them a look around instead. He still needed to pick out which slaves might best suit Wyman’s needs and if he had to step out anyway there was no harm in giving the other men a quick showing of the place. Maybe it would change their mind and entice them to buy one of Roose’s slaves for himself.

“Leave that boy here.” Wyman said, rather demandingly, tipping his head towards Theon. “He can keep me company. Or perhaps I could teach him a thing or two about good behavior.”

For Theon’s part he kept his head down and his expression neutral. Roose saw the boy’s fingers twitch, and he could feel the sudden panic that rolled off the slave in a wave. No one else could probably tell because they hadn’t spent the last few weeks hand-feeding and bathing the boy, but Roose knew.

“At this point in his training, it would be unwise for him to leave my side.” Roose explained, and Theon’s relief was as clear to Roose as his panic had been.

Did Wyman not understand the point of a personal slave? Roose was under no obligation to share. Not to mention how many times he insisted they keep their hands to themselves. Wyman should have known better. “Perhaps I can find someone else to help you pass the time.” Roose suggested, though he wasn’t keen on the thought of this man making a mess in his office.

“How kind of you,” Wyman replied, leaving Roose no way to get out of that tactfully. Roose wasn’t especially interested, but since there had been no deals struck or closed he had to err on the side of caution, less Manderly walk out with empty hands and a full wallet.

“A moment,” Roose said softly. He went for the door, and Theon followed after him, trying not to hurry. It was clear he didn’t want to be stuck in the office alone with the Manderlys, but he did his best to keep two steps behind in pace like always. Roose waited for him with the door ajar until they were both outside to close it.

Ondrew Locke was waiting on the other side; a middle aged man with jet black hair. He was a head trainer here at the facility, he was one of few who Roose trusted the place to during his short absences, and he was the one who had shown the Manderlys in. 

“Find a slave to entertain Wyman, and talk to the other trainers. Find our ten slaves with the best endurance and biggest builds,” Roose demanded. Ondrew produced a pad and pen from seemingly nowhere to scribble that down. “And get a lawyer down here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to comment or send me an [ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) and we can talk about the #ThrooseSlavefic together :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i want to remind everyone that all the tags are still relevant (dub-con, inspections, objectification, medfet, etc). please also be aware that i've added rimming to the tags with this update!!
> 
> things are a little bit different in this chapter because we get to see Theon's pov! wowee!! hope u guys like it (:
> 
> oh and of course i have to say thank you to my wonderful beta subwaywolf. i was writing something just the other day and i noticed myself putting a comma in after a character said one word ["Like," this] wow.... SUBWAYWOLF!! all ur hard work isn't just in going back and fixing my mistakes, it's actively helping me be a better writer! you are amazing and inspiring and so so sos o so so sO helpful :') i couldn't be more grateful for u and everything u do for me!

In all the time Theon had spent by Roose’s side, coming in and out of the training facility each day, he had never once seen the whole of the place. They walked to breakfast and lunch together, but that was only down one hallway and around a few corners. Sometimes Roose was too busy to leave his desk and he had someone bring food for Theon to eat instead, so it wasn’t like Theon got to see those hallways every day, either.

Theon wasn’t getting a full tour, though - Wendel and Wylis Manderly were. They weren’t even getting a full tour because they weren’t interested in buying a slave for themselves. It didn’t really matter what Roose showed them, they needed to kill time while the slaves were being picked out and gathered and for a lawyer to arrive.

Theon was much more interested than the two brothers were. Unlike Wendel and Wylis, he was a slave and not free to view things in the same way they were. He had to stand back, a step behind Roose at all times. While the two Manderly brothers got to poke their head into every doorway, got a look down every hallway, and got ample chance to ask questions, Theon was the opposite. Roose’s shoulders blocked his view of most things, not that he was expected to lift his eyes from the ground anyhow. If he had any questions, he was expected to swallow them. Slaves should be seen, not heard, and Theon knew better than to speak.

Roose showed the Manderly brothers the dormitories, the showers and bathroom. He showed training rooms, equipment rooms, practice rooms, punishment rooms. There was a place in the training facility for everything.

“Your slaves must not want for anything,” Wendel said as they crossed the courtyard. Theon hadn’t even known there was a courtyard until now. It was beautiful. There were plants and flowers and paths and slaves sunbathing. Just lying in the sun, relaxed. Apparently fit and toned sold better on the market. If buyers wanted tan slaves, Roose had to provide a place for them to tan. Theon was a little jealous. He ran laps outside sometimes, but he would like to spend a few hours laying in the grass and relaxing in the sun, too.

Roose did not deign to comment, only lifted a shoulder indifferently. He was a tough nut to crack, and so Wendel decided not to try and crack him at all. Instead, he turned to Theon. “What about you, boy? How do you like being in Roose Bolton’s care?”

Theon was so unprepared to be spoken to, he almost stumbled. He looked to Roose, but his owner was steps ahead of him and did not bother to look back.

“I… I like it.” Theon said. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I like it, ser.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really. He liked it better than he had liked Greatjon Umber’s kennels. He liked it about as much as he liked living with the Starks.

Ned never beat him or fucked him, but that had almost been worse. Pretending to be a part of their business, their operation, their family… the awkward silences where they did not speak about the fact that Theon was just a companion and not one of them had been more painful than any lashing Roose had ever given him. Theon had considered this to be the worst possible place he could have ended up, but it wasn’t so bad now that he was here.

Wendel laughed. “What do you like about it?” He asked, as if trying to catch the slave in a lie.

Theon swallowed, considering thoughtfully. “The rules are very clear,” he said. “I kinda need that. I’m still learning how to be a good slave. Roose is more patient with me than I deserve, and his discipline makes sense. It’s tough, but I don’t mind tough.” He tried not to wince. It was a bad answer. He was never really good at giving good answers. Any Stark could attest to that.

Theon liked laying on Roose’s couch. He liked when he could sleep through the night with ease. He liked when Roose cooked lamb and shared it with him. He disliked nearly everything else, but Wendel and Wylis didn’t want to hear about that, and Roose would surely punish him for saying those types of things.

Wendel made a face at his brother as if he did not believe a word Theon had said, but why would he? Theon was covered in bruises and walking in a way that tried to hide the discomfort of a big fat plug stuffed inside of him. He probably looked miserable. Anything he said that didn’t correlate with such misery would be taken for lies.

On the other side of the courtyard they reached a door leading back inside and Roose opened it for Wendel and Wylis and the two men in their company. He held it open for Theon as well, touching his shoulder softly to lead him in. Theon chanced a glance up at Roose, wondering if he had done okay, or at least not poorly. Roose’s eyes were cold and his expression unreadable. Theon’s stomach twisted in the worst way and he felt suddenly incredibly ill. He’d messed up. Of course he had.

The horror of this realization was only quelled by the fact that the tour was ending. Theon was a little glad, because then all the Manderlys would be gone and he could breathe a sigh of relief. He would be alone with Roose then, though, and that made feel ill all over again.

They returned to Roose’s office then. The door was closed, but Roose opened it and invited Wyman and Wendel and the two men with them inside. As the door swung, the scent of sex wafted out, thick and heady and full of sweat. Theon disliked it completely and had a hard time pretending he did not notice. Roose had no reaction at all but Theon could tell he disliked it as well. Maybe it was just that Roose seemed to dislike everything.

Roose let Wyman and Wylis join their father. He politely excused himself, saying he would be back in a moment, and closed the door on the lot of them. He walked away, and Theon was glad to follow Roose down the hall and around the corner and further away from the Manderlys. The rendezvoused with the employee from earlier who had a tail of slaves following him like little ducklings. Except, they were large ducklings with big muscles and beautiful bodies and a few of them were supporting a five o’clock shadow.

Roose looked the lot of them over, deciding they had been well chosen. He informed the slaves in short, concise sentences that they were going to meet a potential buyer, impressing upon them the likelihood that two of them were about to be bought and sold. The slaves seemed surprised. 

Theon tried to remember how he felt when Roose had shown interest in him at Greatjon Umber’s place. This was different though. These slaves had been training and striving to reach a point in which they could be sold whereas Theon had been praying for his family to come take him home. Theon felt very sorry for them. They hadn’t been training for what Wyman was buying them for. He had just seen the whole of the place and it wasn’t like there was a room where surviving gang rape was taught and learned.

Roose lead the procession back the way he and Theon had come, towards his office. He knocked on the door before opening it and this time Theon steeled himself for the smell. Wyman was sitting in one of the leather arm chairs with a slave boy curled up in his lap, practically purring like a kitten. It took a second for Theon to realize that that was a slave who’d been brought in to entertain Wyman.

The slave got to his feet and helped Wyman with the zipper and fly on his trousers, even going so far as to assist with his jangling belt buckle so that it was fastened again. He was a young, thin thing with close shaved blonde hair and a blood red collar wrapped around his neck. His lips matched the collar, red from being kissed. The slave smiled sweetly and leaned in, begging Wyman silently for one more kiss once his trousers and belt were done, and Wyman granted him one. 

Theon was very thankful for Roose in that moment. He was thankful that he had not had to stay and endure Wyman, or his kisses, or any other disgusting things the slave had probably been subject to. He wished he could say something. He wished he could say thank you. Not now, of course, but later when they were alone. Theon would probably get a slap on his ass for even saying thanks…

The slave saw himself out, bowing his head politely to Roose in a way that showed clear obedience and respect. As soon as he was gone Wyman cleared his throat, pretending as if he had not been found with his pants literally undone. He was a mess. His skin glistened wet with sweat and his hair was looking mused. Roose showed no evidence of his disgust, but he clearly wasn’t pleased that this man had gotten off in his office. 

Roose took his seat at his desk, though he cautiously inspected it for any fluids before sitting, Theon stood beside him. One by one each slave was presented to Wyman. 

Naval slaves and sex slaves were sold in different ways, it seemed. Physical inspection was usually saved for out-processing and that was typically the norm. Wyman did things his own way. He beckoned each slave over and gave their jaws a firm pinch with his fat hand, forcing their mouths open. He gave each a good look. He asked them if they liked to suck cock and if they liked to be fucked hard, and he received surprisingly varied answers though most of them were affirmative on both counts. Lastly he had them bend at the waist, and he spread their cheeks open, inspecting there as well.

It made Theon uncomfortable to watch.

Wyman made his choices, two brawny slaves that towered above the rest. He must have mistaken physical prowess for their ability to take cock. Theon had always considered himself strong, he was sort of tall and he had a decent set of muscles but nothing had prepared him for the pain of being fucked the first time though. Strength had nothing to do with it.

Theon had to accompany Wyman, the two chosen slaves, and Roose to out-processing. If he thought watching the slaves be inspected was bad, the out-processing was worse. There was no special room for it like there had been at Greatjon’s kennels, it was combined with an on-site infirmary. 

The infirmary was nightmarish in Theon’s opinion. Wendel and Wylis had been shown the door as they swept passed on the tour and Roose had explained some of the care they gave unwell slaves, but being inside was very different than hearing about it. The whole place was clean, and impersonal, and utterly clinical. If he thought Roose’s staunch white master bathroom was bad, this was way worse. There were unwell slaves tucked away behind sterile blue curtains and Theon could hear one crying as they passed. Roose and Wyman seemed not to notice.

Theon was more than glad to stand behind Roose as the two slaves were processed, that way he would not be able to see. The processor went through the same questions and procedures as had been done with Roose at Greatjon’s kennels. Theon disliked remembering it. He disliked remembering the way Roose had stroked his cock in front of the Umbers. Theon had blushed and gotten hard, and he was embarrassed to recall it now. He found himself blushing again, and he hoped no one would notice. 

Watching Wyman inspect the slaves in Roose’s office was uncomfortable, and the out-processing in the infirmary was awkward, but nothing could prepare him for how impossibly boring things turned when the Lawyer arrived. The slaves were taken to be hooded and secured in the back of Wyman’s transportation home, but Wyman and Roose and the Lawyer all went back to Roose’s office to hammer out a contract. It was about as interesting as watching someone hammer nails. Or the same nail. For hours. Nearly two hours, to be exact. 

Theon tried to listen and pay attention at first, but the details went over his head and suddenly his eyelids were so heavy and his chin felt like dropping to his chest. He couldn’t even stretch or shift or do a few jumping-jacks to wake himself up. Roose told him often that sex slaves were to be seen and not heard. Theon likened himself to a picture on the wall. Pictures didn’t move. He struggled, but he managed, and when the negotiations were done Theon’s relief was palpable.

Contracts were printed and signed and Roose reluctantly gave Wyman’s hand a shake. Just like that he was gone in much the way he swept in. He was late arriving, and left later than he should have, and Theon had never heard of the man before today so he hoped to never hear of him again. The lawyer stayed a minute longer to discuss one matter or another with Roose, but it was late and Theon was just so relieved to be almost alone with his owner that he didn’t bother trying to listen. It would all just go over his head anyway.

When the lawyer was gone, Theon sighed audibly. Roose had a pen in hand that he tapped softly on the desk, and they enjoyed a few long seconds of solitude.

“Go stand in front of my desk.” Roose ordered after their few long moments of silence were done.

It was getting late. They would have been home by now if not for Wyman Manderly. Theon was hungry and tired and he wanted to curl up on Roose’s bed. Wyman was gone now, and the lawyer had left, so they should be headed home, too. Right? 

Suddenly Theon remembered the look Roose had given him in the courtyard; the lack of expression he had had after Wendel had asked Theon those questions. Was Theon going to get in trouble for that now? Oh god. Of course he was. Theon’s stomach felt ill all over again. 

His ass was still so bruised from the whipping, he wondered if Roose would hit him in the face instead. Roose had threatened to turn a riding crop on Theon’s cock and balls once. Theon swallowed nervously and tried not to let his fear show. Whatever it was he was in for it, and there was no way to get out of it. He’d already made his mistakes.

“Today you were given the opportunity to impress me,” Roose said to him.

Theon looked at the floor.

“Do you think you think you did well?”

The question was like a knife in the chest. There was no right way to answer that. “It’s not about what I think, ser, it’s about what you think,” he replied, copping out instead.

Roose stared hard at the boy. “Ultimately yes, it is my word that determines what happens to you, but I would like for you to evaluate yourself and tell me how you think you behaved today.”

Theon’s exasperation was clear and he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know, ser. Bad.” He was guessing. “I didn’t… I’m not very good at controlling myself yet. I didn’t know what to say when Wendel spoke to me. I… bad. I was probably bad.”

“You did respond rather poorly to many things,” Roose informed him. “You look to me in uncertainty instead of permission when spoken to or given a command. You are still slow at following orders. Your reactions to Wyman and his sons touching you was impolite and undisciplined. It was very clear you did not know what to say when spoken to.”

Theon’s chest grew pink first, and the color rose up like a heating thermometer, turning his neck red. It crawled up his ears and into his cheeks and colored his nose. He stared hard down at the floor. Roose let him wallow in the discomfort of all the things he had done wrong. Tears welled up in his eyes, fearing whatever pain he was surely due. He bit the meat of his bottom lip to keep his chin from quivering.

“…but,” Roose continued, softly. “Wyman Manderly is an unimpressive man who behaves like an idiot. He treated you in ways I would have preferred him not to. Considering his poor behavior, you did not make any egregious errors or misrepresent me to the point of embarrassment. I’d say with your lack of training and instruction you did quite well. I would have been very surprised if you’d done better than you did today. I know what we need to work on and I am not disappointed in you Theon. In fact, I am satisfied with your behavior.”

Theon wasn’t prepared for the possibility that he’d actually done well. His mind was reeling, attempting to understand, still stuck in a place of fear. He laughed and sounded sort of hysterical. “Ser?”

“You did well, Theon,” Roose reiterated. “You will do better in the future, but today you did well enough.”

“I… may I ask a question?” Theon asked, swallowing the lump still in his throat.

Roose nodded gently. “You may.”

“I’m… I’m not going to get punished?” he asked. It was a dumb question and he knew it, but his brain was still shifting gears and verbal confirmation would help him to understand. It would help make it real.

“No,” Roose told him plainly. “You’re not going to be punished.”

“Thank you, ser,” Theon laughed in earnest, a short, unbelieving sort of breath. “Thank you! For everything. For letting me stay by your side and not letting Wyman-“

“Quiet,” Roose interrupted him. “That wasn’t an invitation to speak. Your thank you was sufficient.”

Theon nodded in understanding. "Yes, ser." He knew that. Normally Roose's corrections stung a little, making him feel guilty, but Theon was so happy he wasn't going to be punished he didn't even feel bad for over speaking.

Roose stood then, and circled around the width of his desk to join Theon in where he was standing. He stared hard at the boy, critical and analytic. The slave did not drop his head bashfully like he might have otherwise on the receiving end of such a gaze, he stared straight ahead. He had done nothing wrong. It felt good not to be afraid.

After a moment, Roose reached out and grabbed Theon by the back of the neck. “Bend over,” He instructed. He assisted, urging the slave’s neck down until he was bent over Roose’s desk. Theon bent willingly. Roose found the thick black knot of the plug and gave it a pull. The slave groaned in surprise and discomfort as the width of the plug passed through and out of his body. He quickly quieted himself, content to clench tight and feel nothing once it was removed.

Roose had promised the boy reward for his good behavior, and Theon sighed happily with relief. “Thank you, ser.” He murmured.

Theon was given the task of carrying the plug back home, and he held it delicately in his hands on the car ride back. It was odd to look at. He was fully aware that the whole thing had been forced up inside of him for the entire day. It was so big and so long. He couldn’t stop staring at it. He wondered if his body would ever be the same after his plug training, and thought maybe it wouldn’t. He could feel it even now, passed the pain of sitting on his bruises. He felt… almost empty without something in him. It was like losing a tooth; there was a gap that needed to be filled.

Roose let him walk upstairs by himself when they got home. Theon was allowed into the master bedroom and bathroom all on his own. He left the plug on the counter to be cleaned for later. He went back to the stairs and paused before descending. Roose had never allowed him into any other rooms on this floor. Theon wondered if the doors were unlocked or not...

Theon briefly considered trying to nearest one. Roose would never know. Would he? The slave swallowed and glanced around. He hadn’t fucked up all day today. He didn’t want to fuck up now. His curiosity was thwarted and he hurried down to the first floor before temptation seized him.

When he found Roose in the kitchen, Roose helped him to wash his hands clean in the sink. He pressed right up against Theon’s bare ass, and the slave could feel his owner’s soft cock through his work trousers as Roose stood behind him and watched him wring soap onto his hands. A few week’s ago he might have been afraid of Roose’s cock, but Theon wasn’t afraid now. It was soft after all, and Roose didn’t seem like he intended to fuck him tonight.

Roose cooked in silence and he fed Theon their dinner without speaking to him much at all. During their bath, Roose gave his usual quiet orders and he scrubbed Theon good and clean. It was later than usual, and the slave was yawning as he shuffled to bed. Roose went to change out of his clothes and Theon crawled onto the mattress without him and sprawled out over the comforter.

“On your back,” Roose ordered.

Theon pushed himself onto his elbows and then turned over completely. He was sitting upright with his back against the headboard. “Ser?”

“Good.” Roose had stripped down to his boxers. He was standing at the foot of the bed, but standing quickly became kneeling as he pressed one knee onto the mattress and then the other. And then he was on all fours with Theon’s feet caged between where his palms were planted in the bed.

Theon pulled his feet up at once. He wasn’t afraid of what Roose would do to him, more worried that he had invaded Roose’s space when he shouldn’t have. Not that that was even possible because Roose was the one crawling to him as he sat in his spot.

“Spread your legs,” Roose instructed.

Theon swallowed, suddenly uncertain. Had he been so wrong about Roose’s intention earlier? He did as he was told, revealing himself to his owner. His cock was soft and limp and it lay to one side. His pubic hair was still wet from the bath, and slowly drying. He bit his lip. What was Roose going to do to him?

Roose reached out for the slave’s hips and pulled. Theon went sliding until he was laying flat with just his head propped up among the pillows. Roose’s face was so close to Theon’s cock he could feel the soft his breath and it tickled his skin. That tickle was nothing compared to when Roose dipped his head and pressed a feather-light kiss to the strip of skin beneath Theon’s balls. It was so odd, the slave twisted. 

“Ser!” he said again, unsure what else to do.

“Hush, boy,” Roose scolded him. His lips brushed over Theon’s skin as he spoke, nose nuzzling the slave’s heavy balls. He kissed again, so sweetly, and Theon wasn’t sure what to make of the sensation. “Stroke your cock.” Roose ordered him, adding more kisses.

Theon was still unsure, and he would rather not stroke his cock at all, but he reached out for it anyway and gave some half hearted tugs. Roose lifted the slave’s hips, physically pulling Theon’s body closer. His mouth found the seal of Theon’s hole and he kissed it as sweetly as he’d kissed the slave elsewhere.

Theon’s stroking faltered. Roose’s soft kissing quickly turned wet as his tongue licked out at Theon’s entrance. Theon could feel Roose lick his own lips, wetting them thoroughly, and his tongue brushed over the slave’s sensitive flesh in the process. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t bad at all. Theon swallowed and took a deep breath and allowed himself to feel what was being done to him instead of trying to resist.

Roose lapped gently at him, like a dog thirsty for water. His tongue was so wet and warm and it sent a tingling rush of blood to Theon’s cock. Roose elicited the beginnings of an erection all on his own, with the soft wet pleasure of his tongue, and Theon encouraged it with earnest strokes. He began to touch himself, genuinely, urging his cock to hardness.

The tip of Roose’s tongue circled over the delicate pinch of Theon’s hole and it tickled in a way that set Theon’s muscles taut. He gasped a little and realized that ...maybe he kind of liked this? It didn’t hurt, it didn’t feel bad, it was definitely odd but it tickled in the best way. He decided to look at it as an addition to his masturbation and not the main focus and that made it easy to enjoy.

Theon stopped stroking his cock long enough to bring his fist to his mouth, and he thrust his own tongue into the curve of his fingers. When his hand was wet, he returned it to his hard length, stroking himself again. It had been so long since he’d jerked off. The stimulation directly to his cock felt so good, and Roose’s tongue was doing such oddly delightful things to him, it was easy to feel his orgasm building. His balls were heavy with come, and he was eager to see release.

Theon hastened his stroking, pleasuring himself, letting the friction burn through him. Roose’s lapping turned to poking and the tip of his tongue teased into Theon’s hole. He toyed with Theon, poking in and out and in again. Then, he trust a length of it in, penetrating the slave as much as a tongue could. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t like the thick plugs, or Roose’s own fat cock. It felt so small and slight in comparison. It filled that empty space, the lost tooth feeling, just enough that Theon felt whole for a moment. The pleasure of it enveloped him, soft and warm, and his cock pulsed in his hand. He stroked it accordingly.

Roose pushed his tongue in as deep as it would go, which was not very deep at all, and really began to fuck the slave with it. Theon groaned with the pleasure of it. He had not known being fucked could feel good. The pain of his lost virginity was nowhere, and all he could feel was the pleasure of Roose’s tongue fitting perfectly inside of him. Something deep within him pulsed, a white hot flash of pleasure, and it burned through his cock. Come came spurting out of him, sudden and intense, and the slave’s whole body writhed. Roose kept his tongue pushed in deep, and Theon found himself clenching around it tightly.

He stroked himself through his orgasm, breathing heavily. He came, and came, and came, and made a great big mess on his stomach. When he was finished he relaxed, and muscles he had not known he was clenching in his legs and stomach went to ease. He heavily laid his body on the bed.

Roose pulled his tongue out, giving the slave one last lick before he pulled away entirely. His mouth was wet with spit but he looked awfully dignified for a man who’d just had his face buried in the private parts of a sex slave.

“Your reward,” Roose whispered to him, ever so softly. Theon barely heard him over his own deep breathing.

“Fuck, ser,” Theon closed his eyes. His cock was still aching a little, and his hole was wet and he could feel the wetness when he clenched. “Oh, fuck. Thank you. It felt… I never felt anything…”

Roose gave him a look that told him to be quiet. He reached out for one of the pools of come on Theon’s belly and dipped a finger in it like it was frosting. He brought it to his own lips first and tasted it before he scooped up more and offered it to Theon. Theon winced a little, and turned away at first, but he realized that he might get in trouble for that and opened his mouth anyway. Roose pushed the come inside, and Theon licked it from his finger. It was bitter and salty and about as bad as he was expecting, but it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

That was the end of it, then. That was all there was to it. Roose pulled back the covers and beckoned Theon to join him under them, completely cavalier. They had never done anything like that before, and now it was over and they were just supposed to go back to their routine as if it was nothing?

“Ser…” Theon was covered in come, he’d make a mess of the sheets. And what about Roose? Was he expecting something in return? Theon was the sex slave after all, as Roose was always so keen to remind him. He was the one who should be making Roose come. Wasn’t that the way it worked? “May I ask a question?”

“Under the covers, first. Then you may ask,” Roose granted him.

Theon crawled into the space beside Roose where the comforter had been pushed back. He felt the come, sticky on his chest and belly, and he knew it would get everywhere but Roose really did not seem to care. He pulled the covers around the both of them, drawing Theon in. The slave was surprised to find Roose half hard, his slightly stiff cock poking at Theon’s thigh.

“Shouldn’t I be the one doing that for you?” he asked. He didn’t really want to. He was not especially keen as to what Roose Bolton tasted like down there, but that was the sort of things sex slaves did, wasn’t it?

“Maybe in time, you’ll learn,” Roose told him, turning out the light.

Roose did not seem particularly interested in teaching Theon something like this though. After a long moment of consideration during which Theon was sure that his owner was finished speaking to him, Roose spoke up again. “You seem to be under the impression that I bought you solely to pleasure myself with. You are a sex slave, Theon, and sex involves the both of us.”

“Oh,” Theon whispered softly after a long moment. He still had questions, but Roose wrapped an arm around his shoulders and forced them closer together. Theon lay his head on Roose’s chest.

“Sleep,” he ordered.

Theon closed his eyes, eyelashes brushing against Roose’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to leave a comment below or [hmu on tumblr](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask)!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! thanks for all the nice comments and messages! (: i really appreciate every single one of you! here's a small update! 
> 
> some new tags have been added; masturbation, come eating, bruises (dunno why i didn't have that tagged before), head shaving, tattoos, and there's brief mentions of enemas in this chapter.
> 
> also i want to say thanks so much to my beautiful beta subwaywolf who is perfect and amazing. at work i had to take an online course in "understanding grammar in business emails" when i failed to identify the differences between incomplete, compound, and run-on sentences over and over and over again while taking the course i praised all the old gods and the new, the drowned god, the lord of light, and every other god there is that i have subwaywolf in my life to know all this stuff for me. he is so smart and so amazing and i am so grateful i met him.

Since Theon’s reward had gone well, Roose decided that he would attempt fucking the slave again once his bruises were healed. They were only soft purple in the worst spots now, and mostly Theon’s backside and thighs were green and yellow. His cuts were healing rather nicely; Roose expected no scarring, which was good. He disliked the look of scars on a slave. It would still be a while before Theon was healed entirely, so they continued with life as usual until then.

There were a few differences, of course. The morning after his reward, Theon woke up with a stiff cock. He wore it with embarrassment through the halls of the training facility and tried to hide it with his hands when he took his position at Roose’s desk. Roose had seen it the moment he woke up that morning so there was nothing to hide.

“Uncomfortable?” He questioned the slave.

Theon’s ears went pink. He wasn’t sure how to answer. “Honestly, ser?”

Roose gave him a look. He always expected honesty out of his slave.

“Yes,” the slave admitted in a small voice.

“Take care of it, then,” Roose ordered, and he busied himself in his work as Theon slowly figured out he was meant to touch himself. He did so ungracefully, eventually ending up with one hand braced against Roose’s desk as he jerked off with the other. His hair fell in a curtain to hide his face, and through the soft black Roose could see the boy biting his lip. It took him longer than Roose expected but eventually he came, accidentally squirting come on the desk. When Theon tried to wipe it away with his fingers Roose ordered him to lick it clean instead, and so he did. His face twisted up sourly at the taste, but he would grow used to it in time.

Roose decided to give the slave a bit of a break from wearing a plug and changed the schedule so that Theon only need wear them at night instead of also during the day. The slave seemed to appreciate this. The very first night after his reward, and the masturbation in Roose’s office, they went home like they always did. They ate like always, Roose bathed him like always, and Theon went to crawl onto the bed to take his plug like always. When Roose stuffed a finger inside of him to lubricate the way, the slave groaned and his cock grew stiff. It was a good sign. Roose was tempted, oh so very tempted to toy with him, but he focused on the task at hand and continued with preparation for the plug’s insertion. When the fat silicone plug was finally nestled deep inside of the slave, his erection did not flag and Roose found this even more pleasing.

“One little reward and your cock is begging for attention now, isn’t it?” he noted, fondling Theon’s balls.

“I’m sorry, ser,” Theon whispered, embarrassed. “I… I can’t help it.”

“You’ll learn,” Roose informed him dutifully. “There is no need to be ashamed for now. I enjoy the sight of your hard cock.” Theon’s cock might have been the best part about him, and it certainly did look nice when it was thick and full and red at the tip.

“Thank you, ser?” Theon said to him, laughing a little with embarrassment. He was still so shy, after everything.

Roose did not let the slave touch himself that time, though. They curled up in bed and Roose wrapped his arms around Theon’s body. He would be sure to feel it if the slave attempted to jerk off in the night. Theon made no comment and did his best to go straight to sleep as Roose had commanded. The slave was half hard the next morning and he grew stiffer on having the plug removed, so for a second day he sported an erection on the way into Roose’s office. One of the trainers teased him for it which turned Theon deep red. Roose didn’t care for anyone else teasing his slave, but how could he say no to that blush?

He did not let Theon touch himself then either, and eventually his cock lost its erection.

Theon didn't ever ask about masturbation. Even when his cock was hard and he seemed desperate for a chance to touch himself, he never mentioned it. He waited for Roose to bring it up first. Always. Roose was surprised and pleased at his control. 

Their days involved a few more hard cocks than before, but it was a good transition. It would help ease the way into having sex regularly. Roose was eager to show the boy pleasure now that he knew Theon could get excited and enjoy himself, but those bruises still had to heal first.

Roose had thought he would fuck Theon before the slave saw his first auction, but he ended up being wrong about that.

Roose attempted to attend at least one auction a month in order to make sure his training facility was never stagnant with the same slaves. In accordance, he attempted to go to kennels at least twice a month to replace the slaves that were sold. Buying and selling slaves was a constant task that required going out to kennels and auctions on a scheduled basis. 

For Theon, going to an auction was exciting. For Roose, it was old hat. The night before was the real work, of course. Trainers gave Roose the numbers of slaves that were deemed fit to sell. All of them had earned their collars, and most of them were now learning extra, menial skills in the meantime while they waited to go up for sale. Roose had an assistant pull their files and he then carefully chose thirteen slaves.

He needed to balance the lot of them out. He couldn’t have too many who were too muscled, or too thin. He needed blondes and brunettes and redheads. He needed eyes of every color and skin of every shade. He tried to pick who had been waiting the longest; slaves that might have been ready to go up at the last auction but were counted out on account of there being too many slaves in the group of thirteen that already had their physical features and assets.

This particular auction they were preparing for was up by Long Lake, and the ride would be lengthy. Truthfully, there wasn’t much to be found near the Dreadfort and all auctions and showcases were a ways away, but this was far enough that Roose gathered together the group of thirteen the night before. They looked good assembled. He had put together a nice group. He was already deciding in his mind who would go up to the auction block and in what order.

The slaves were all given fresh haircuts with the clippers, buzzing away the stubble that covered their heads. The ones that needed their faces shaved were shown a straight razor. Roose oversaw all, and Theon stood watching curiously just behind him. Roose decided that a few ought to have their pubic hair shaved away as well. Just three of the thirteen, and when they were finished and bare the look suited them. Roose knew what he was doing. He knew what would sell.

After their hair was cut or shaved, they were lead down the hall to a sterile section of the grooming area. One by one, they met a tattoo gun. An employee Theon had never seen before with full sleeves of tattoos folded down each slave’s bottom lip with latex gloved hands. With black ink he scrawled “BOLTON” in heavy scripted letters into their mouths with a tattoo gun. Some slaves teared up at the pain, but most were excited and faced the needle bravely. The latex gloves and needles were changed out between each slave, and in the end they all had their tags.

The slaves were showered next. The showers were communal in nature, a long stripe of tiled walls and floors with shower heads and drains poking out at even distances. The slaves were ordered to wash themselves first and then Locke, one of Roose’s head trainers, went through and scrubbed each of them expertly by hand. Roose watched, standing back enough not to get wet. Theon, who was watching intently over Roose's shoulder, would likely recognize the way the trainer was soaping them up. He was familiar with it as it was the same way Roose cleaned him in the bath.

Unlike Theon’s baths, each slave was given an enema to clean them inside as well as out. They were made to bend and brace against the wall. Locke came through with a round rubber bulb filled with water and gave each slave a big squirt. Though practiced at receiving enemas they all seemed to dislike it.

After the enemas were expelled and the slaves were thoroughly clean, they were dried with big warm fluffy pink towels and Locke took them off to their rooms for the night. The slaves had dormitories on the upper floor of the facility, but since this group was being sold tomorrow they were moved into a different wing upstairs with private, comfortable beds. Roose urged them all to sleep well in order to look rested in the morning. A tired slave would not sell.

It was pitch black by the time Roose took Theon home. Instead of making something fresh, he heated up leftovers.

“Ser?” Theon spoke to him, sitting on the kitchen floor. They had finished eating, but Roose hadn’t started clearing the table just yet. “May I ask something?”

Roose stared at the boy for a long moment, considering. “You may.”

“What happens tomorrow?” he asked. “I… I want to do good. I don’t want to mess up. If you want to tell me, I think that will help me. But… it’s up to you, I mean…” Theon trailed off as though realizing that maybe he shouldn’t have spoken.

Roose left him sitting in his uncertainty for a long moment before he spoke, soft and quiet. “Tomorrow we drive to Long Lake. The auction will take two to three hours to see all the stock shown and sold. Contract signing and processing will take another few hours. Then we come home. You will stay by my side and not speak to anyone unless spoken to. The first half of the auction we will spend amidst the slaves up for sale, and it’s unlikely that anyone interested in buying from me will speak to you. Afterwards, during contract signing, the men who have purchased from me will be brought to their purchases. Some of them may show interest in you but as long as you behave, this should not be an issue. You did well in front of others last time, and this time you will do better. Yes?”

Theon seemed a little surprised by all that information. That might have been the longest Roose had ever spoken to him at one time, but he nodded his head eagerly. He was trying to show he could behave well. “Yes, ser,” he agreed.

“What do you need to work on?” Roose questioned him.

“Looking to you for permission.” Theon remembered that one. It was akin to the same way he normally looked to Roose, only with a less scared expression on his face. “And. Uh. Not… not jumping or, like, being scared or startled. Just be good. Respond to orders quickly.”

Roose might have been amused, but it scarcely showed in his expression. He nodded. “Close enough. Permission, speed, and discipline in maintaining posture.”

Theon nodded. Roose cleaned up their dinner. 

Roose bathed his slave like usual after that. Theon almost seemed to expect extra attention after the care the slaves at the facility had received, but he was not up for sale so it was just a regular bath for him. Roose gave him the plug to wear, and Theon curled up with him afterwards.

Roose realized as he was drifting off to sleep that he'd lost track of the days until Ramsay came home. Four months yet, at least, but Roose would need to check a calendar. He would be too busy to do that tomorrow, but after the auction he mustn't forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! there'll be more to come during the week!! feel free to comment or send me an [ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr and we can talk about the #ThrooseSlavefic together!! (:


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this update u will notice it switches pov in the middle, there's a little --- to indicate a pov switch. i didn't want to break these two sections up. i hope this isn't too distracting or weird. it's the only chapter this happens in so sorry if it's disorienting. tho hopefully not! 
> 
> new characters including Horton Redfort and Willas Tyrell have been listed. a few new tags including slave auction, and cock rings have been added too!
> 
> and i want to say thank you to my beautiful beta subwaywolf. i wrote u a very important haiku to say thanks: thanks for beta'ing. you're the best beta reader. god bless you subway. (poetry slam mic drop) NAILED IT.

In the morning they hurried through their routine. They were early to the facility and the slaves that were up for auction were quickly gathered. Locke was with them, and he would be joining Roose at the auction in order to help things run smoothly. Ryswell was in charge of the training facility while both Roose and Locke were gone. 

The slaves were hooded, black fabric pulled over their heads and fastened to their collars. Theon thought maybe he would be hooded too, but thankfully Roose decided against it. The slaves were piled into the back of a fifteen passenger van where the last three rows of seats had been gutted. They were forced to sit on the floor, squashed in close to one another. Locke took the driver’s seat. The passenger seat was stacked high with files and there was a large red cloth bag sitting in the space under the glove box. Roose and Theon took the one remaining backseat directly behind the passenger and drivers chairs for themselves.

Theon felt guilty. The other slaves were forced to sit on the floor of the van and he got to curl up on a comfortable leather bench seat with his owner. He supposed that was the luxury of being owned. Roose sat with his one leg crossed and he had Theon stretch out beside him. It reminded Theon of the way they curled up on the couch sometimes. He rested his head on Roose’s legs and the soft rumbling of the road put him to sleep. 

When he awoke they were stopped and the sun was shining in through the van windows. He buried his face in the fabric of Roose’s pants, hiding from the brightness. Roose stroked his hair. The back doors of the van were pulled open and a cold rush of air met them. Theon groaned and shivered.

“Wake up, boy,” Roose murmured softly to him. “We’ve arrived.”

Long Lake was cold. The wind came rushing over the open water and whipped at Theon’s bare flesh as he stumbled out of the van. There were great, tall pines that stood a hundred feet high dotting the other side of the lake. They were so far away they looked tiny, but Theon knew if he stood next to one it would tower in comparison to him. The van had been pulled up to something Theon wasn’t sure how describe other than perhaps a lodge. It was a ritzy looking place made to feel rustic with an excess use of mahogany logs and deep browns and greens. Valet came out to meet them, and someone else in a neat uniform found Roose to hand him a badge. No one looked at Theon.

They were escorted in through the front, and Theon knew he was probably supposed to keep his head down and just follow Roose but he had never seen anything like this place, not ever. It was like a fancy country club or something. The main doors lead into a grand open room with tables spaced out evenly. They were clothed in dark green and there were squat little candles atop every one, glowing softly. The chairs were wood, and it looked like they were cobbled together from driftwood or fallen branches but they were exquisitely crafted to look this way. They had comfortable cushions, also in dark green. There was a bar that stretched the length of the room, and behind the bar was floor to ceiling glass windows that overlooked the lake.

There were bartenders still setting up, and a waiter going around lighting a few candles that hadn’t seen a flame yet. Theon was enamored with the view. He stumbled to keep up with Roose while staring with his jaw dropped at the lake. He noticed a deck connected to the building, and saw that there were actually sliding glass doors that lead out to it, and it wasn’t just a wall of windows.

Beyond the deck the lake lay glistening with midmorning sun, and the pine trees stood tall on the other side of the water. It was such a beautiful place. Theon remembered the ocean from when he was younger. He remembered the water being choppy and that it ended at the horizon. (Or, it didn’t end, really, but stretched on forever, as his uncle had told him once.) This was different. This place was like a painting.

Roose brushed through the cocktail room without so much as glancing at the view.

Theon followed Roose, and Locke was a step behind Theon. The slaves, no longer hooded, followed the trainer. They were equally as impressed with the view, most of them were craning their heads to get a look at the place.

They passed through the tables to a large open hall. The walls were papered with soft, subtle patterns and the floor was carpeted in dark green. There were old photos of the lake, and hunters with their guns or trophies, and fishermen with their catches that lined the walls. Theon did not have time to look. Roose opened a large set of double doors leading into an area that looked off-limits to anyone other employees but no one stopped them. Down the hall they heard voices and the movements of many people.

They passed closed doors with freshly printed signs taped to them. “LANNISTER” one sign had written in big letters. “SWANN” on another. “FLINT”, “TYRELL”, “REDFORT”, “BOLTON”. They stopped at the sign marked with Roose’s last name, and Theon caught sight of the name “REDWYNE” posted on another door a few more paces down. There were more rooms further past that, all marked, that he could not read. Though the doors were all closed, Theon knew there were people behind all of them. Trainers, likely, with their slaves. Some of the names he knew from when he had lived with the Starks, others he did not recognize.

The room they were assigned was rather small, but there was enough space for all thirteen of the slaves to sit comfortably on the floor. The carpet in their room was green, and the walls were a feint ivory. There was a large painting of the lake on one wall, though it looked like a print and not an original. If Theon had to guess, there was probably one of these in every room. There was a very sturdy-looking wooden table on one side of the room with tall legs, more narrow than wide. There was a desk lamp on top, lighting a deep green binder with “Long Lake Lodge” embroidered in gold. Roose went over to it and picked up a stapled stack of papers beside the binder.

“Theon,” Roose spoke the slave’s name. “Have you ever been to an auction before? Did Ned Stark ever take you to one?”

“No, ser,” Theon told him. He thought about mentioning the fact that the Starks had sold their companions at a standard price but sometimes he got in trouble for talking too much when Roose didn’t want to hear him so he decided against saying anything more. He really wanted to be on his best behavior today.

“Come here,” Roose beckoned him closer. “Look at this.”

Theon was only a step away from his owner but he walked right up to Roose’s side. He looked down at the paper Roose was also looking at. It was a list of names, the same ones he had seen on the doors. Beside each name was a number. Theon tried to decipher it, because it wasn’t in alphabetical order and the numbers didn’t appear to occur in any sort of order either.

“This is the auction list,” Roose explained to him. “The names of those selling slaves, and the amount they are selling.” He pointed out. Theon found the name Bolton on the list and saw that there was a thirteen sitting next to it. They had the biggest number of anyone here, everyone else was selling five or six or even less than that.

“We brought so many,” Theon realized.

“We will sell more, and make more money,” Roose explained.

Theon nodded; that made sense. “But… what if we don’t? What if not all the slaves get sold?”

“They are Bolton slaves,” Roose told him. “They will sell.”

Theon swallowed. He didn’t doubt that. So far as he could tell, this was the order they were meant to go up. A lot of other slaves would be sold well before any of Roose’s slaves saw the auction block. “Is it good that we are so far down at the bottom?”

Roose nodded, and reached out to cup Theon by the back of the head. He scratched the slave’s scalp in a soothing way. “It would be better if we were last, but Lannister slaves are more renowned so it isn’t a surprise that we aren’t.”

Theon noticed that Tyrell was put after them as well, but he didn’t mention it he only nodded. “I understand, ser.”

“I won’t have time to answer any questions, so ask now if you have any.”

This was by far the most casual conversation the two of them had ever had. Theon liked speaking to Roose this way but he expected that as soon as this moment was done this would be the last of such casualness. What’s in the binder? Theon thought. What else is stapled behind the auction list? Why are the Tyrells after us? How long will we have to wait? What happens after the auction is over? Roose was inviting him to ask anything he wanted, but Theon could not find the courage. He didn’t want to get in trouble, or take up Roose’s time, or ask something he wasn’t allowed to know. The list of mistakes he could make was endless.

“No questions, ser. Just tell me what I need to know. I will be on my best behavior.” Theon still felt rather clueless, but he was putting his trust in Roose to show him the way to get through this day without messing up.

“Good boy.” Roose smoothed his hair.

Theon’s chest turned a little pink when Roose said that to him. He glanced sideways at the slaves sitting on the floor. They had to have heard him, but none of them seemed to be paying any attention. They were probably too wrapped up in their own thoughts. They were about to be sold, every single one of them. This was a big day in their lives. Theon hadn’t realized it until now, but Roose buying him at Greatjon’s kennels had been a big day for him, too.

There was a knock on the door. Locke opened it to the sight of an older man with a beard and mild eyes. “Bolton,” he smiled politely at Roose when he saw him.

“Redfort,” Roose turned to greet him.

The man walked in, sticking out his hand for Roose to shake and Roose did. They seemed to know one each other, and they were comfortable enough in each other’s presence. “How are you, Roose?”

“Well,” Roose replied politely.

The older man stared at him for a long moment, at ease with Roose’s silence in a way most men were not. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“And you, Horton?” Roose continued, still nothing but polite and proper.

“Just fine. The family’s well. Mychel sends his regards. He misses Domeric dearly.” Horton smiled a sad sort of smile. Theon got the sense that something was off. He wondered who Mychel and Domeric were, but he did not ask he simply bowed his head and stayed out of the way. Even still, he managed to garner attention. Redfort’s eyes shifted to Theon. “Who’s this?”

“A personal slave,” Roose informed, stepping aside a little to give the older man a better view.

“A beauty,” Horton smiled. “With such long black hair and a nice thick cock.” He reached out for Theon’s face, tipping his chin up to get a better look. Theon let his chin be lifted, and out of respect he did not meet Horton’s eyes. “Haven’t earned your collar yet, have you, boy?”

Theon wondered if he was supposed to look to Roose for permission to speak, but he thought about the order only to speak when spoken to and he expected it would be okay to reply without asking for permission. “Not yet, ser,” Theon said.

“Soon,” Horton nodded. “You’ll look twice as beautiful with a red collar around your neck.”

“Thank you, ser,” Theon tried not to smile. No one had ever called him beautiful before, and now he’d heard it twice all at once.

“You be good to Roose, you hear me? He needs a good little slave like you to suck his cock.”

Theon really couldn’t help but smile at that. He thought maybe that was an odd thing to say. Or maybe it was the most normal thing to say. He was still so new at being a sex slave, he didn’t even know. “Yes, ser. I’ll be good, ser.”

Horton patted the slave’s cheek fondly and pulled back. “Smart little slave you’ve got, Bolton. I came to wish you well today, not that you’ll need it.”

“It’s appreciated,” Roose assured. “I expect you’ll do just as well.”

Horton nodded and gave Roose a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Good to see you. Send me an email sometime, tell me when you’ll be showing again.”

Roose nodded. “I will.”

Horton got a glance at the slaves up for auction before seeing himself back out the way he’d come. Roose turned back to the stapled packet of paper as if he had not been interrupted at all. He turned a page, and read for a moment, and then checked his watch. There was plenty of time before the auction was due to start.

Auctions were a lot of hurry up and wait. Especially when they were third from last to go up. The thirteen slaves grew bored, and hungry, and many of them fell asleep sitting up. Roose took calls, still managing things back at the facility, and talked in hushed tones to Locke.

Locke left for a little while and came back with food for everyone. Roose hand fed Theon. It was the first time Theon had ever been fed in front of anyone. Sometimes trainers and employees walked in on them in Roose’s office but this was different. Most of the slaves didn’t seem to pay attention to him, too busy feeding themselves, but some of them watched out of the corner of their eyes. Theon blushed when he licked crumbs from Roose’s fingers but at least he did not hesitate.

Roose took time to talk to the thirteen slaves as well. He reminded them of what the men and women bidding on them would be looking for; what to do, what not to do. Dont smile, dont flex, no nervous twitching or antsy fidgeting, don’t be stiff or awkward. He spoke to specific slaves, telling them what type of demeanor would work best with the way they looked. 

As he spoke, someone from the lodge walked the halls and knocked on the staging-room doors. Roose as well as Theon and all the slaves in the room could hear the sounds travel from door after door. Trainers were being invited to bring their items up for bid when the time was ready, one by one.

\---

It was about that time that Roose and Locke got the thirteen slaves to their feet. They stretched, and some of them had limbs that had fallen asleep so they rubbed their legs and flexed their feet. They were all ordered to stroke their cocks and from the red cloth bag cock rings were produced. One by one Locke placed a deep red silicone ring on every single slave’s cock. It sinched at the base, just behind their testicals. For most of the slaves, the red cock ring was hidden in their pubic hair, but for the few that were shaved, it looked impressive. The slaves’ cocks stayed nice and stiff, and some of them turned seductive, dark shades.

“Ser?” Theon swallowed.

Roose turned to him, giving the boy a look. He had told his slave he couldn’t answer any questions, he would be too busy, but they weren’t ready to head out just yet so he supposed one question wasn’t going to hurt any.

“What are those things?” Theon asked so innocently, it was utterly unlike the boy who’d gasped and panted and sported a hard cock the next morning after Roose had eaten his ass.

“Would you like to find out?” Roose asked him.

Theon’s mouth opened, like a fish gasping for air. He struggled to find the right words, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Bolton!” The words came from outside. “You’re up next.”

With that, Roose formed the slaves into a line and they left. Through the wide hallways he navigated the way to the room where the auction was being held, an annex set up specially for the event. They were accessing the room from a side hallway. The main entrance lay elsewhere in the lodge. There was a small door leading in, and three naked girls stood waiting as a well-dressed older woman stood in the doorway, peering into the room. She glanced at Roose for a moment, but her expression soured and she returned her attention to the auction.

There was an amplified voice coming from the open door; the auctioneer’s as he lead the proceedings. Roose could not see anything, but he would as soon as the group of slaves before him was finished being sent through. One at a time each girl went up, and they could hear the bidding wars that were fought over them. There were three in total, and they all went for decent prices. Roose was pleased. If they were bidding that high on Redwyne slaves, he would make a steal of this place.

The girls and their trainer left shortly after the last one saw the auction block and then it was Roose’s turn to stand in the doorway. He glanced within and saw endless tables, a sea of bidders. The place was packed full and the turnout was impressive. The auctioneer gave a short introduction as to the type of slave Bolton bred, asking the bidders to refer to the information they received when walking in. Some turned to look at pamphlets on the table and in their hands, others seemed to know precisely what was up next.

The first lot was introduced, and Roose waved the first slave in line to join him in the doorway. He pointed the way up the stairs to the auction block and informed the slave to stand three steps from the auctioneer’s podium. He was a brave little thing, that first slave, and he went with confidence to be bought and sold. Theon watched from behind Roose’s shoulder with bright eyes.

When his thirteen had dwindled down to only three waiting to go up, a small group of Tyrell slaves were brought to head up the line behind Roose’s. Willas Tyrell, a handsome young man lead the procession of three girls and three boys. They followed at a slow place behind his heavy limping, and he used a cane to walk.

He had dark hair and light eyes and he smiled a very tender smile when he spotted Roose. “Bolton.” He made his way over to the man, slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. “So good to see you.”

Roose nodded at Willas. The bidding had just started on his tenth slave, and it would go for a while longer, so he did not mind taking his eyes and attention from the auction block for a few moments.

“Willas,” Roose spoke the man’s name, sounding flat. Willas was smart, and sharp, and his father ought to have better use for him than sending him all the way up to Long Lake to sell at auctions. “So far from home,” Roose murmured.

Willas smiled again, such a kind smile. “I asked to come. I had heard that Long Lake was a nice enough place to visit, and I quite like the travel. It’s tough on me, but who doesn’t need a little toughening up every once in a while? I didn’t know it would be so cold, though.”

Roose thought the boy talked too much, but at least he sounded pleasant when he spoke. “Your slaves will do well,” he said softly; politely. “Especially with you here to guide them onto the block.”

Willas laughed, seeming charmed. “That’s kind of you.” He glanced into the doorway where numbers were still being raised for the Bolton slave up for bid. “I expect you’re making a killing of it?” It was a pleasantly vague question, but Roose was disinclined to answer so he nodded his head instead. If Willas wanted to know the specifics of how much Roose had earned today, he could find out in his own time.

As what happened with most people when they found Roose a struggle to speak to, Willas turned to Theon, who was standing a step behind Roose’s shoulder. “Hello, sweetheart.” He held his hand out to the slave.

Theon glanced to Roose, trying not to look uncertain. Roose nodded gently. Theon stuck out his hand, still not understanding what was going to happen, and he was utterly surprised when Willas took it in his own, and lift it to his mouth. Willas gave Theon’s knuckles a sweet kiss. “Do you belong to Roose Bolton, boy?”

Theon nodded. “Yes, ser.”

“Lucky you.” Willas smiled, and he sounded so genuinely envious that even Roose was almost convinced. “I have a slave of my own at home. I miss him very much.”

Theon hesitated for a second, trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry to hear that, ser,” he said.

Willas laughed softly. “How kind of you.”

Theon lowered his eyes politely, and so Willas turned back to Roose. “I suppose I should make sure my slaves are ready to go up. It was nice to see you, Roose. I’m sorry I’m not at showcases more often.” He tapped his leg with his cane. “Showcases are harder on me, but it’s always nice to see a trainer who so genuinely cares about the craft.”

“Agreed,” Roose nodded. The Tyrells only sold sex slaves, and they were one of the largest and most profitable companies in the business. They were direct competition, but Roose did not bare any ill will for them. They cared about their product, and they made good slaves, and that meant something.

“Wish me good luck,” Willas called over his shoulder, limping passed the three slaves of Roose’s still left to go up.

“Luck,” Roose said softly.

The auction could not have possibly gone better. Each of his thirteen slaves had real, strong interest from the bidders. They were all bought at prices that completely covered their cost of purchase and cost to train, and Roose still made profit beyond that. Slaves that Roose thought would fetch large prices went for even larger than he’d expected, and the slaves he thought would not go over too impressively did very well in their own right.

After the last of his slaves were sold, the whole thirteen were gathered up again and Roose took them back to the staging room from earlier. They were excited and nervous, and all of them were buzzing with adrenaline and energy. Their cock rings were removed. This resulted in more than one coming, making a mess on themselves that needed to be cleaned up. They had to wait for the rest of the auction to be finished before the slaves could meet their new owners.

That was when the real chaos hit. The winners of the auctioned slaves were brought to meet the lots they had paid for, and soon the tiny staging room was filled up with grown men in expensive clothes putting their hands all over Roose’s slaves like horny teenagers who couldn’t keep their hard-ons to themselves.

Theon got a little lost in the shuffle, and in the press of bodies. He went from standing behind Roose to half way across the room being strong armed by a stranger who would not let him go. “I’m sure I paid for you,” the man was saying. He might have had a few drinks at the bar.

Theon struggled away, muttering apologies. He pressed between two slaves, wiggling his way through, trying to get back to Roose. When he was close enough, Roose reached out for him and grabbed him hard by the back of his neck. 

“Kneel,” he commanded and Theon went to his knees at once. He was scared at first, but then he realized that he was not in trouble but that Roose was just trying to protect him and keep him close. Theon ended up with his face pressed to Roose’s thigh, practically clutching his leg. He did not raise his head to speak to anyone else, and pretended not to notice when he was accidentally stepped on.

Roose had a presence ominous in nature and utterly commanding. When he spoke in his soft voice, everyone stopped being frisky long enough to quiet down and listen. He explained the contract, asked about any questions, and one by one each man was made to sign the papers. Of course, that was just the first step. The next step was processing.

As a group they were lead to a processing room that was more of a repurposed first aid room than a genuine processing room. The processor wore his credentials clipped to his shirt collar, and so at least he was legitimate. It took a surprisingly long time to see every single slave processed. 

Each buyer wanted to see their new slave hard, as if they had not seen it on the auction block. This proved difficult for the ones who’d come from the removal of their cock rings, but they were Bolton slaves and so they performed. Most buyers wanted a good look inside, and the majority of the thirteen were opened up with a speculum and peered into. It was a lengthy process that was not helped by the fact that there was only one processor and a whole auction’s worth of slaves to get through. After the out-processing, both the processor and the new owners were made to sign more forms.

At Lake Lodge they had a membership policy, and only members were allowed to bid. All members had to go through background checks - they had to be legally allowed to own slaves, and they had to register with the local slave protective services. The legality of owning slaves simply meant going to the local department of licensing and filling out a form. This made selling at Long Lake Lodge incredibly easy for Roose. As long as he was selling to a member, he did not need to double check any credentials. 

After the out-processing was completed, the buyers were free to take their slaves. Roose kept a copy of their contracts and a copy of the files on each slave he sold, as did the local SPS, and the owners themselves kept copies as well. The last thing that needed to be done was a slave-owning seminar the Lodge provided that familiarized owners with slave’s rights (or, lack thereof) that took place in another part of the lodge. As a trainer, Roose need not attend.

Once the slaves were processed, he gave them all a kind nod, and a few said goodbye or thanked him for their training but that was the end of it. It felt satisfying to see them all sent away. He would be even more satisfied when he saw the final figures on his profits for the day.

Theon was sneezing before they made it back to the van. Locke had gathered what was left of their belongings and they returned to the vehicle, just the three of them, to make their way back to the training facility. It was a quiet ride home with no slaves in the back. Or, it would have been a quiet ride home if not for Theon. The slave sniffled and sneezed and started to cough a little as well.

Roose had thought about fucking the boy that night. He thought about Horton, and Willas, and the way they eyed his slave. He was not a jealous man, but it made him realize what he had on his hands. Theon’s bruises were so close to being healed, what would a little sex hurt? The slave had been on his best behavior as well, and he’d been polite and obedient and good. He deserved a reward. Except, by the time Roose was finished at the office Theon was running a fever and it was clear sex was out of the question.

It was bound to happen, really. The slave had seen next to no one but Roose for weeks and weeks and now he was thrust into the busy fray of an auction? It was no wonder he’d caught something. The cold weather at Long Lake likely didn’t help either.

Roose made him chew a tablet of vitamin c, and he gave the boy some over-the-counter syrup to swallow, which made Theon gag but it would be good for him. Roose gave him a bath with tepid water to help cool his fever before it burned him up any hotter. Theon was too sniffly and sick feeling to ask any questions, he simply seemed worn out and tired. He shivered next to Roose for most of the night. It was lucky that the auction had been on a Saturday, because Roose spent his Sunday off tending to his unwell slave.

Theon muttered his apologies, clearly feeling bad for how sick he’d suddenly gotten. He let Roose feed him warm soup and he took any medicine he was given and he curled up with blankets and rested all day. Between long naps, he would wake and ask sleepy questions. “Was the auction a good one?” “Will we ever see Willas again?” “Will we ever see any of those slaves again?” “Are all auctions like that?” “Did I behave well?” but he was drowsy and the cold was fogging his brain and Roose shushed him more than he answered him.

Roose was so distracted tending to his sick slave he forgot to check the date Ramsay was due to return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u to everyone who's been reading each update as they come out. thank you to everyone consistently leaving comments and messages and stuff. you're all amazing and great. thank you so much i really appreciate all of you! feel free to leave more comments, or [hmu on tumblr!](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! how about a nice small update? ned woods is such a minor character (both in the source material and in this fic) i've decided not to tag him but he's in this chapter. no new tags but some of the same stuff comes up like masturbation and come eating, etc. 
> 
> and as always thanks to my beautiful beta subwaywolf. no one would be reading this fic if it weren't for him. and i'm not just trying to butter him up like 'yea he reread stuff n fixed the errors i was too lazy to fix' like. no. my grammar skills are so poor this fic would be UNREADABLE if it weren't for him saving my ass. and of course he motivated me and helped me the entire way. thank you subwaywolf!!

Theon was well enough to accompany Roose to work on Monday, and he was even better by Tuesday, and he was back to normal by Wednesday. Roose was grateful that the duration of the cold was so short. He had little interest in seeing after a sick slave. He took care of Theon willingly, but if this was something he was going to have to deal with regularly he would lose interest in caring in the future. It might be a cruel way to treat a slave, as they could not help their illness when it occurred, but Roose just didn’t have the time or patience.

Theon seemed to know this. He willed himself to get better as quickly as possible, determined not to be a burden on his owner. They were both determined to return to a more normal routine.

Though it wasn't part of their normal routine exactly, Roose always went to a kennel after an auction. He wasn't about to change this old habit because of his new slave. Theon was well enough to travel again, and since he'd just gotten sick he wasn't like to get sick again so soon. Roose had to take him with, he couldn't leave the slave at home by himself after all.

He did have to decide whether he would like to fuck Theon before or after a trip to the kennels though, and in the end he decided after. Having recovered from his quick cold, Theon was looking awfully tempting and very fuckable, but Roose was a man of restraint and control and he wasn’t as tempted as another man might be. It would be more satisfying if he waited.

Roose left the facility in the hands of his more capable employees on Saturday, just for the morning, and he and Theon went together to drive to a local kennel. Roose tried to space out which kennels he went to and when, never returning to the same one for at least a month. This gave him better opportunity to see new faces. 

Since everything was so far away from The Dreadfort, the drive took time. Theon leaned back in the passenger seat, relaxing his head against the headrest. He stared curiously out the window, watching the trees pass.

“Touch yourself,” Roose commanded.

The slave didn’t even think about it. He didn’t even turn his head to give his owner a surprised or incredulous look as he’d been so fond of doing during their first few weeks together. He murmured a gentle, “yes, ser” under his breath and began to stroke his cock.

Roose was satisfied with his obedience.

“May I ask you something, ser?” The slave turned to look at him, still softly stroking himself.

“You may,” Roose decided. His focus was on the road but he could see Theon out of the corner of his eye.

“Sometimes, when I think about your tongue in me, I can feel something like… inside… inside of me, and…” He trailed off with a soft sigh, his cock growing hard.

That wasn’t a question though, so Roose didn’t say anything in reply. He reminded himself to give Theon an anatomy lesson sometime though. The boy had so much to learn about sex still. Soon they would have more, and he would learn more. Very soon.

The slave put genuine effort into masturbating. He licked his fingers and after that his stroking had a slick sound to it. With one hand he cupped his balls, squeezing gently, and with the other he continued his strokes. He hastened his pace, jerking his cock faster and with more desperation, panting and squeezing his eyes shut tight. When he came, he came so hard that seed landed on the passenger side window.

Theon relaxed a long moment and caught his breath. He regarded a few spots of jizz on his hand, and the amount that had landed on the window. “...Do you want me to lick it off, ser?”

“Smart boy,” Roose murmured, with a nod of his head.

Theon licked it from his hand first, then the window. His face showed his disgust, but he swallowed it all like a good little slave. They had pulled up to a stop light so Roose reached out, gently stroking Theon’s hair. “From now on, say thank you when you come. It is at my allowance that you may touch yourself, and it is at my allowance that you are let to finish. Do you understand?”

Theon nodded. “Thank you, ser. For letting me come.”

Roose was so pleased with Theon’s behavior that he nearly put the car in park and devoured the boy right then and there. “Good,” he murmured gently instead. He would show the slave reward for his good behavior. Not here in the car, but Theon had earned something nice.

When they reached the kennel, Roose circled around the car to open the passenger door for Theon. Instead of helping the boy out of his seat, he leaned in and thrust his tongue into the slave’s mouth in a kiss. Theon was surprised at first, but quickly realized he ought to be kissing back. Roose could taste the bitter salt of come on his tongue, and he liked it. He suckled Theon’s bottom lip, and then bit it. Hard.

“Ow,” The slave whispered once their kiss was broken. He sounded really rather hurt.

Roose had hardly left a mark. “Come,” he ordered. “And remember to be on your best behavior.”

Uncertain about what had just happened, Theon moved to follow. What else could he do? He licked his bottom lip and then touched a finger to it to feel for blood, but he followed.

The kennel was a place called The Woods named after the family that owned it, but it wasn’t very woodlike. It wasn’t even near any woods, it was nestled out near the Lonely Hills on a back road. Long Lake lodge had resembled woods. The furniture had been wooden, and the carpets and table cloths had all been green like fresh forest foliage. The Woods’ kennel was clean, with pale walls and tiled floors. It had a slightly effected feel, as if it had been built twenty years prior and not updated since. The walls were probably white once, but now they were ivory. The floors were probably white too, but now the spaces between the tiles were dark with dirt and the tiles themselves were scuffed and worn.

The look of things did not improve much when Roose was admitted to the back. The kennels themselves were clean, but the cages were metal wire and outdated. Roose had been through here plenty of times before. He knew they kept their oldest slaves up front and the younger, newer slaves in the back. The employee helping them was a man named Ned whose nose had an odd look to it. He was polite, and squinted like he needed glasses, but he never annoyed Roose in any way and he was always honest.

Theon stayed close to his owner, trying not to look into any cages. The slaves within gave him hard, distrustful looks.

Roose lingered curiously, looking over the older slaves up front. He wouldn’t mind buying or training them, they were usually smarter than the boys he dealt it, it was just that they didn’t sell. Older slaves were harder to take care of and began ailing quicker than young ones. A slaves life was already short enough compared to freed men; it was always more cost effective to go with a younger one. Still. Some of the older slaves were rather handsome. Every time Roose was here he considered taking the risk and purchasing one, just to see how it would do at an auction or a showing. Every time he decided against it.

Roose moved further towards the back, watching the faces grow younger and younger with each cage he passed.

Ned spoke up to him. “If it’s true you’ll take sick slaves, you might like this one.” He said, nodding to a nearby cage. The slave within couldn’t have been more than twenty with the biggest baby blues Roose had ever seen. He was on his knees staring up at the two of them, begging for a home.

Roose did not like sick slaves so much as he liked cheap slaves. There was a difference between the two. Still, he let the comment slide. “What’s the matter with him?” Roose asked.

“He was half dead when we got him; swabs came back with something or other that kept him quarantined out back.” Ned explained. “Coughing and wheezing and he threw up whatever he ate. Feverish, too. He’s not anymore. He eats fine, though he still coughs. A lot.” That was the type of honesty Roose paid for. If another potential buyer came in looking for a slave, they might get a much different story with a lot fewer details. Kennel owners learned not to treat Roose the same way, and if they didn’t learn than he simply didn’t bother ever going back to that kennel.

“Ever cough anything up, boy?” Roose asked the slave.

“No, ser.” The slave shook his head. “Please, I’m really obedient. I’ll be really good. I’ll do anything-“

Roose turned away, disinterested in his groveling. He certainly looked nice enough, and he had just sold a boy about his size with big blue eyes too. It wouldn’t be the worst idea, but the slave would need to go directly to the infirmary to be watched for a while. That would take time out of his training. If it turned out he had weak lungs, asthma, or something incurable, he would be utterly worthless.

“How much?” Roose asked.

Ned only shrugged. “We took him in a rescue, really. He was coppers to us. He’s only been here half a month, so at least two hundred for the cost of keeping him. I expect he’s worth more than that, so you tell me what you think and don’t short change me too much and we can make a deal.”

Roose liked the Woods’ kennel. Really. He did. It could be that the slave was worth nothing, but Roose was willing to risk it. “Let me have a look at him,” he decided before walking down the line to look at the other slaves.

Further towards the back, Roose found twins; two teenage boys with olive skin and deep, dark hair. They were a bit on the scrawny side and awfully lanky but they would improve with care and attention. He did not even need to ask about injuries or illnesses or price. He wanted them. He could train them together, and sell them together. Twins were hard to find, and it was luck that he happened upon them. Some fortunate buyer would end up with both, and Roose amused himself for a moment with the image of these two down on their knees fighting over a hard cock. It would be expensive for the both of them, but it would be worth it.

There were more slaves that peaked his interest, but Roose was content to take just the three into out-processing. The processing room was decent in size, but outdated like the rest of the place. The exam table was covered in hideous brown leather and the paint on the cabinets was peeling. For as nice as The Woods was, Roose did not care for their processor. He was a bearded man with no hair on his head and tattoos that covered his arms. He talked too much and made lewd jokes.

He was snapping latex gloves on his wrist when he made eyes at Theon. “You first, huh?”

Theon stepped behind Roose, practically hiding. “That would be my personal slave,” Roose informed. The boy didn’t have a collar around his neck, so it was easy to confuse him with a slave fresh from a kennel, but this dolt of a man had to have known they didn’t have anything this good-looking in their wares.

“Huh,” The processor lifted his eyebrows. “That so? That’s a shame, I’d like to get my hands on you.”

Roose’s expression darkened a little. This was precisely the kind of thing he didn’t care for. The processor must have noticed because he turned to the slaves that actually did need processing. He started with the sickly slave, physically leading him to the examination table. He coughed as he sat up on it, trying to stifle himself so that he was not set off into a coughing fit. 

“Finally someone wants you,” the processor muttered. “I’ve been getting sick of hearing you cough all day.”

They went through the usual checks, though Roose stayed half a step back as not to catch anything. He considered ordering Theon out of the room so that he wouldn’t catch anything either, and was given opportunity to do just that when Ned joined them half way through. He handed the files for all three slaves over to Roose.

“Theon,” Roose said, paging through the first file. “Go stand out in the hallway with Ned. Be polite. Behave. He’s in charge.”

“Yes, ser,” Theon said, managing to sound less nervous than Roose expected he was. He’d never given the boy an order like this before. Ned took the hint and lead Theon out, kindly leading him with a hand on the back of his neck.

Apparently the sick slave had been swabbed and diagnosed with pertussis on his arrival, but with no way of treating him it had gone unchecked. It was likely that he had come down with something else at the same time to make him twice as ill, though nothing else was noted in his file. It was a wonder none of the other slaves in the kennels caught anything from him.

This was good news though, because with a few day’s quarantine in the infirmary and a vaccination he would be eligible for training and sale. What Roose wasn’t paying for in price he would end up paying for in medical expenses, but the boy seemed to be a wise enough purchase. Not to mention his overall health was just fine otherwise. He had not been abused or mistreated prior, his teeth were clean and healthy, and his body was in decent form. He looked especially good with his cock full and hard. Roose declined to feel inside the slave on account of him still potentially being contagious, but he did have him stretched open and he was pleased with what he saw inside.

The twins were up next. They went through the majority of their processing one by one but when it came time for more detailed inspection Roose had them stand side by side. Their cocks even looked the same when they were hard. He hefted their balls into his hands, one twin with his right hand and the other with his left. The weight felt the same. The processor was quite amused with this, like he thought Roose was indulging himself, but Roose knew a potential buyer would try the exact same so he ought to try first.

Roose inspected them internally at the same time as well. Both twins were bent over the examination table and he sank one lube-slicked and gloved finger into the both of them. The twin on the right was tighter than the twin on the left. His eyebrows drew together in pain and he closed his eyes, where the twin on the left grit his teeth and bared it reasonably. Roose would be intrigued to see how they would do in their training. He scarcely needed to continue with the out-processing; he knew he wanted all three of these slaves, but there were standards and practices to upkeep. The process commenced, and eventually they finished.

Roose stepped out into the hall to move on to contract agreements and signings with Ned. He found Theon leaning casually against the wall, blushing pink in his chest. He was smiling. Ned was smiling too, and he quickly lifted his eyes from Theon’s face to squint (like he needed glasses) at Roose. “Smart slave you have here, Bolton,” he commended.

Roose reached out, possessively running his fingers through the slave’s hair. “I’d like to purchase all three,” he said, leading the conversation elsewhere.

The three new slaves were gathered, and Roose was taken to the front for the final parts of the purchasing process. All contracts between kennels selling raw slaves to trainers were nearly identical, and kennels were required by law to inform regular customers of changes made in the contract; as there were none here, Roose got through the paperwork rather quickly.

It was nearly noon, and if it was just Roose and Theon on their way back Roose might have considered stopping somewhere and testing the boy’s ability to behave well in public by taking him out to lunch. There were three new slaves to account for, though, so instead Roose had the three of them hooded and he put them in the back of his car and they headed back to the facility. All three new slaves were quiet and obedient, and Roose was thankful.

Theon got a kind pat on his thigh as they pulled out of the The Woods’ parking lot as recognition of his good behavior. “You did well,” Roose told him.

The slave seemed pleased. “Thank you, ser,” he said, and smiled that same bright smile he’d shown Ned.

Tomorrow, Roose decided. Tomorrow he would fuck the slave. Tomorrow was Sunday, and they had the whole day to themselves, and he would spend it rewarding Theon for his good behavior both here and now and from the auction the week prior. They had to get through the rest of the night first, and Roose wasn’t sure how he would find bringing the new slaves to the facility any interesting at all, but his work came before anything else so he would get it done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please come back tomorrow for a bigger update! and feel free to comment below or send me an [ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaa! (confetti emoji) enjoy some throose sex, everyone! tags have been updated w like five new things but it's all fun sex stuff so no big warnings! just read and enjoy!! :)
> 
> and of course i have 2 say thank u 2 my amazing beta subwaywolf. he is a kind man. he is good. unlike us he didn't get to just read hot throose sex and go 'aw yea good stuff' he had to think critically abt it n put commas in where i forgot n stuff. can u imagine having 2 do that job? it is a tuff one, but subwaywolf does it w grace n skill n i am so THANKFUL FOR HIM!!

The very next morning Roose woke before the alarm clock. He quietly disabled it and went back to sleep. When he woke again the sun was shining in through the curtains and there were birds chirping in the trees outside. In the mid-morning light he could see Theon perfectly beside him. The boy had turned on his belly and was laying with his head facing away, cuddling up to a pillow. His hair was a mess, dark and knotted at the base of his neck. That did not stop Roose from leaning in and kissing him there and then again on his shoulder. The slave did not so much as stir.

Cautiously, Roose turned over and reached for the dresser drawer of the night table. He found the lube there and quietly opened it. He coated his hand and then coated his cock. He made slow, careful movements, trying not to wake his sleeping slave. When he was slick and ready, his fingers found the back of Theon’s thighs underneath the blankets. Roose could not see where he was reaching, but he could feel and he knew the slave’s body well enough.

Roose slid his slick hands over the back of the slave’s thigh to the gentle curve of his ass. He found the protruding end of the slave’s plug that he’d put in just the night before. Roose expertly slid it out of place. Theon groaned in his sleep, and shifted on to his side. Roose could not see it, but his hole went from a small gape to spasming softly; his body was confused about what had just happened to it. Still, the boy did not wake. That was just fine, this was just how Roose wanted him.

Roose guided his slick, stiff cock to press against Theon’s backside. He slid it up the length of the split in Theon’s cheeks a few times, indulging himself, before lining it up just right. He pressed it against Theon’s hole. The slave’s body opened up to him. Roose slid his cock in inch by inch.

Theon whimpered, and attempted to struggle away, but Roose clutched him close in a hug.

“Ser?” He groaned in a groggy little voice. He was waking now, and realizing what was happening to him.

“Hush boy,” Roose whispered back. He nuzzled into the gentle curve of Theon’s neck. “Take my cock like a good little slave.”

Theon gasped softly. He brought one knee up to his chest, attempting to make this easier on himself and Roose allowed it. “You’re so big,” he whispered.

All that time spent wearing a plug should have made this easy for him, but a hard cock was a very different thing than silicone. Roose thrust in as deep as he could in the position they were in, and when his cock was buried inside of Theon he moved to kiss the slave’s shoulders. He stayed still, allowing the slave’s body to adjust. “Does it hurt?” he inquired.

Theon hesitated to speak. “I… I don’t think so,” he swallowed, nervously. “It feels so odd, I-“

Roose rolled his hips gently, cock sliding out and back in again ever so slowly. Theon cut himself off with a sudden moan that overtook him. His hands made fists under the blankets, and his body clenched tight around Roose’s cock. Roose waited patiently, and when they were both ready he repeated the action. Slow, steady, and gentle. Again and again he rolled his hips, sliding the length of his cock out before burying it deep again. Theon made quiet noises, and his chest began to rise and fall with staggered breaths.

“Alright?” Roose asked him, cock pulled out until nothing but the very tip was pressed inside.

Theon nodded his head but did not speak, and before he was finished nodding Roose pushed his length in again. The slave made pitiful noises. He was at the mercy of the pleasure he was feeling, completely weak to it.

The position they were in wasn’t conclusive to much other than that soft, slow, gentle fuck. It wasn’t long before Theon found his voice. “Please…” he whispered. “Ser, I…”

They both wanted more. Easing in and out of Theon felt amazing, and maybe Roose could have come that way given a little concentration and effort but this was only meant to lead into something more. Theon could handle more. He wouldn’t feel the same pain he felt when Roose had fucked away his virginity. He had been trained with the plug. He was warmed up and ready now, and he could take a good hard fuck. Without further ado, Roose slid his cock out.

Theon groaned unhappily.

Roose had him turn on his stomach, and spread his legs. He straddled the backs of Theon’s thighs, lined himself up with his hand, and pushed in again. The slave pressed his face to the sheets, moaning. He was nice and open, and sliding in was easy. In this position, Roose could bury his cock in even deeper than before. He could tell when he’d pushed further inside of Theon than he had yet because the slave gasped and clenched up tight. Roose gave him time to relax, and he finished pressing in with his length.

“Alright?” he asked, trying not to be impatient. This was all new for Theon. It was understandable that things might be a little overwhelming for him.

Theon nodded, after a moment.

Roose reached out, and his hands found Theon’s arms. They were bent, fists in the sheets, but he righted them so that his hands were at his sides instead. Roose pinned him by the wrist to the mattress. Theon didn’t need to be pinned, but it certainly did feel nice to have him caught. The slave flexed his fingers and twisted his wrists in Roose’s grasp but he wasn’t trying in earnest to free them.

The time for slowly adjusting was over. Roose pulled out and bucked back in, fucking Theon hard. As soon as he’d done it, he did it again; he began pounding the slave in earnest. Theon’s moans were instantaneous, and he began writhing immediately. He was enjoying himself, insides convulsing in the most pleasurable of ways. Roose fucked him harder and faster with each pumping thrust until he’d hit a deliciously frantic pace. He got off on the speed and ferocity and white hot friction of it. They made the bed frame shake. They made the mattress squeak

“Ser!” The slave cried as Roose fucked him. Suddenly he was actually attempting to free his hands, and his moans became more like sobs. “Wait!”

Roose did not yield, he pounded into Theon; unrelenting.

The slave twisted his hands again, struggling. “Please! God, ser! I’m gonna come! Let me touch…!” He cried out, practically screaming.

Theon’s whole body went stiff, jolting into tautness. He shuddered and cried and squirmed and he clenched so damn hard around Roose’s cock that it was easy for Roose to follow him to orgasm. Theon’s body squeezed him, warm and tight and erratic, clenching and unclenching again and again.

This must have been the first time Theon had ever come without being touched because he was struggling. Roose enjoyed the reaction, reaping the benefits of the way the slave’s body convulsed. Even the whimpered sobs sounded like music to his ears. He unloaded his own seed, pumping it into the slave one hot thrust at a time.

Theon went limp after a few moments, and Roose slid his cock out soon after. He collapsed on the bed beside the slave. With effort Theon turned on his side and clasped his softening cock in his hand, squeezing it in an attempt to provide some kind of stimulation to counter that which had been denied to him. He seemed desperate for sensation; panicked in a way. His eyes were blurry with tears and his cock’s head was wet with come.

“Fuck, ser,” he whimpered and his chin quivered like he might start crying. “That was fucked up.”

“You seemed to enjoy it,” Roose pointed out. He didn’t care for Theon’s language, and thought fitting to torture the boy a little for using such profanity. He licked his thumb and reached over to rub his wet thumbprint over the head of the slave’s cock. Theon nearly screamed, and without thinking he jerked away. He made the sorry mistake of physically pushing Roose’s arm away from him.

Roose reacted quickly. All at once he was sitting up straight. He grabbed the slave by his arm, yanking him hard. Theon was weak and pliant and he ended up draped ungracefully over Roose’s thighs. Roose gave the boy a hard slap on the ass and then another. “Watch your mouth boy, do you understand me?”

“Yes, ser,” Theon stifled a cry.

“You’re not to push me the way you just did ever again, do you understand?” He accented his words with another hard slap.

“Yes, ser.” Theon’s body jerked in response to the slap, and he tried to stifle his crying again but failed miserably.

“And what do you say after you come?” Roose demanded, slapping him hard on the ass once more.

Theon cried out. “Thank you!” he shouted, voice loud in response to the pain. “Thank you for letting me come.”

Roose was far from done. Though he did not move to spank Theon again, he ran his palm over the boy’s reddening ass cheeks. “That was your reward for your good behavior at the auction. Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” Theon said, much quieter this time. He sniffled and grabbed the sheets, fearfully awaiting the next blow that was sure to come.

“No more misbehavior.” Roose sealed his statement with a few more stinging slaps. Theon clenched up, ready for them, and Roose’s white come oozed out of his hole as he did, slickening his thighs. When Roose was finished, Theon’s behind was cherry red.

“I’m sorry,” Theon said. “It felt good, ser. It did. I just… it felt so good it hurt. Like. I knew I was going to come and I needed to touch my cock so badly. It was just the soft sheet rubbing it and my hands were trapped.” He winced, aching to remember.

Roose helped the boy to sit up. He smoothed down Theon’s hair and wiped away the tears from his cheeks. A cock aching for touch during orgasm was an intense sensation, and the slave had seen it through rather ungracefully, but there was a first time for everything. Roose had given him his spanking for anything he’d done wrong, and now a little kindness would help. “You’ll get better at it,” he assured.

Theon looked at him with uncertainty, not sure he wanted to experience such an intense sensation again. The spanking had distracted him from the oversensitive aching that had caused him to squeeze his cock so quickly afterwards, and soon he would forget the feeling entirely and he would be willing to try again.

“Yes, ser,” he murmured after a moment.

Theon moved to lean back against the pillows. He hadn’t quite recovered yet. So much had happened to him in the span of the morning, and he’d only just woken up. He’d been well and truly fucked for the first time. Roose had given it to him both slowly and sweetly and fast and hard. He’d come without a hand on his cock. He’d gotten a spanking. Now he realized there was come leaking out of his ass.

Normally Roose would have left him there to enjoy a few extra minutes curled up on the bed to go shower, but he stayed by Theon’s side. He leaned back against the pillows as well and wrapped an arm around the slave’s shoulders. Theon eagerly went to lay his head on Roose’s chest. They stayed like that for a while. Roose softly touched the ends of Theon’s hair and Theon touched the fuzz just under Roose’s navel, playing with it absentmindedly. They were quiet, and they listened to one another breathe, and they were completely content.

After a long while, Roose gave a strand of Theon’s hair a sweet tug. “It’s time for a shower,” he murmured.

Theon sat up, giving Roose space to climb out of bed. When Roose was on his feet he reached out a hand, inviting Theon to come with him.

“Me too?” The slave asked in surprise.

“You too,” Roose confirmed.

Theon blushed a little in his ears, but he climbed out of bed and he followed Roose.

When they reached the bathroom, Roose turned on the shower water to let it heat up. He took a comb to the knots at the back of Theon’s hair and sorted them out in the meantime. Theon sat for it well enough. When there was steam fogging the air Roose checked the temperature. The water was perfect, so he took Theon’s hand and pulled him in.

The slave huddled in close, trying to catch all the warmth. Roose wrapped his arms around the boy and they stood under the stream of water together. Theon’s dark hair was soon plastered against the sides of his face, but he still managed to look cute despite that. Roose leaned down to kiss his forehead, and then his eyebrow. He tipped Theon’s face up and caught his lips. He could taste the water, but underneath was the soft taste of the boy’s skin as well. His mouth parted, and Roose licked his tongue in.

Theon wasn’t very good at kissing back quite yet, but that was fine. He would get there. He was willing to let Roose kiss him, and he seemed to like the feeling of another tongue teasing his own. His lips were soft and sweet and it was so easy to stand there, basking in the warmth, letting the shower water slide over them and kiss. Just kiss.

As their lips met and met again, Roose slid his hand down Theon’s back to grab the slave’s ass. Theon groaned. Roose trailed his kisses downward, stooping to find Theon’s neck and collarbone. Either he was blushing there or the heat of the water was turning him a little pink because his skin was colorful under Roose’s lips.

“Ser?” Theon whispered, tipping his chin up. His arms were draped over Roose’s shoulders and he seemed unsure what to do with them.

“Hush, boy,” Roose told him again. He bit at Theon’s neck, making a mark with his teeth. Theon gasped. Roose licked the bite mark, and then sucked on it sweetly until it was purple and pink. When Roose was satisfied, he made another mark. Then another. Theon’s cock grew stiff as Roose worked. He was a feisty little sex slave, already eager for more even after he’d just been fucked. “Did you like the feeling of my cock in your ass this morning?” Roose asked him, lips brushing over Theon’s throat.

Theon nodded. “Yes, ser.”

“You like being fucked, don’t you, boy?” Roose continued his questions. He stood and looked at Theon’s neck. Shower water rained down on the marks, but they were beautiful and fresh. Roose did not usually like the look of bruises, but this was different.

“Yes, ser,” Theon said again, sounding a little embarrassed.

Roose reached for the slave’s stiff cock. “You want to be fucked again, don’t you?”

Theon bit his lips, lifting his hips, arching into the touch. “Yes, ser.”

“Beg for it,” Roose commanded.

Theon looked up at him, blinking through the spray of water. He swallowed nervously. “Ser?”

“If you want to be fucked, beg for it,” Roose clarified.

“Please…” he was uncertain. “Please, ser. Please I want you to fuck me.”

A menial effort. Roose gave the boy’s hard cock a stroke. It was dripping wet from the shower water, as was Roose’s hand and palm, and the stroke was easy and slick. Theon groaned.

“I don’t believe you,” Roose scolded him.

“Please,” Theon groaned. “Ser. I want your cock inside me.” Ah, that was better. Roose rewarded him with another few strokes. Theon whimpered in response, aching for more. “I want you to fuck me harder than you fucked me on the bed. I want you to make me come again. I want it so badly.”

Roose moved to pin him against the shower wall. The tile was cold against Theon’s shoulder blades, and he squirmed a little. “Do you think you deserve a good hard fucking?” Roose asked him.

Theon looked up at him with his big blue eyes; in his expression he was begging even harder for it than he had with his words. “I… deserve whatever you give me, ser. If you want to give me another spanking, I’ll deserve that too. I don’t want another spanking though. I want you. I want your whole cock inside me. I want to be fucked by you. I want it. Please, ser. Please, I want it.”

Roose couldn’t deny the slave after that. 

He hefted the slave’s weight into his arms and slid Theon up the wall. Theon was all too smart in wrapping his legs around Roose’s waist immediately, seemingly aware of what was about to happen. Roose had to reach between them to line himself up just right. The water worked well enough in the absence of lube. Since there had been no plug to keep Theon nice and open, he was a little tighter, and his face twisted up in pain when Roose entered him. When his cock was buried in deep he gave Theon a moment to breathe and relax. He leaned in to kiss the boy’s neck and chest in that time, which was nearly the same as giving him a moment.

After a while, Theon gave Roose’s cock a squeeze with his insides.

“Ready?” Roose asked him.

The slave nodded. “Ready.”

Roose pounded him against the shower wall. It was a physical effort to keep his weight pinned and to fuck up into him, but that was how Roose wanted to take the boy and so that’s what he did. Theon grunted and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. His hands were gripping Roose’s biceps, and his fingers dug hard into his flesh. Roose didn’t hold back. He knew he was being rough, but Theon could handle it.

He let the boy bring a hand down to touch his own cock, and Theon came how he liked when he was ready. It was definitely his own hand that lead the orgasm, unlike how things had gone on the bed, but that was fine. The slave appreciated being able to touch his cock and make himself come. It showed on his face. He didn’t spend very much, just a quick shot of come, and when he was finished he nearly went limp in Roose’s grasp. Roose pulled out, and stroked his own cock until he came. Theon’s body had felt amazing, and fucking him had been amazing too, but it was easier to finish this way than to try and contend with holding up his weight any longer.

Theon leaned heavily on Roose. He caught his breath slowly.

Roose turned the handle on the shower so that the water sprayed down on them a little cooler. He held Theon for a while, letting himself recover as well. When he decided it had been long enough standing there, he reached for the soap and set to work soaping the slave up himself. Theon lifted his arms when told, and moved how Roose liked him, but he communicated in soft groans instead of his speaking voice. Poor thing, he’d been fucked so hard he was all tuckered out.

Roose found blood when he slid the soap between Theon’s ass cheeks. Just a little. That was understandable, and whatever had been torn was likely minimal. It would heal quickly. He washed Theon very thoroughly, taking extra care with his cock and balls and just-fucked hole. When Theon was clean, Roose washed himself, too. Theon leaned heavily on his shoulder but stayed out of the way of his work. Theon’s hair was last, and it was easier washing it in the shower than in the bath.

When they were done getting clean, they climbed out of the shower together. Roose wrapped Theon in a towel first before drying himself off. Theon sat heavily on the edge of the tub. He looked like a man who’d run a marathon.

“What do you say?” Roose asked him as he brought a towel to Theon’s wet hair.

“Mm?” Theon tipped his head up. “Oh. Thank you.”

“For what?” Roose fluffed Theon’s hair dry as they spoke.

Theon’s voice came from under the linen that was being used on his head. “For letting me come, ser. Thank you for letting me come.” 

When the slave’s hair was a little dryer Roose put the towel aside and found a comb instead. He started in on it. “That was your reward for behaving well at the kennel. I think you made a good impression on Ned Woods, and I’m proud of you.”

Theon smiled softly. “Thank you, ser. Thank you for my reward.”

“You’re welcome,” Roose impressed upon him. He finished grooming Theon in silence.

After they were done in the bathroom, Roose found some clothes for the day, and he and Theon went downstairs to make breakfast. It was closer to lunch, really, but Roose made breakfast food anyway; strawberry crepes with whipped cream. As an extra special treat, he let Theon sit on his lap and he fed the boy by reaching around him and gently guiding the fork to his mouth. Theon seemed to like sitting at the table.

When they were done, the slave was messy with strawberry jam, but instead of cleaning it off with a wet washcloth, Roose kissed it from his lips. They sat at the table for a little while, kissing. Theon liked kissing. His cock grew stiff again and he tried to hide it, but it was too late. 

Roose bent him over the table and fucked Theon with his fingers. He wet them with spit and thrust them in deep. Theon groaned in pain at first. He’d been used so much this one morning, and he’d been torn a little too, but Roose was kind in only using his fingers and not his cock. When he curved them just right he set the slave off moaning in pleasure instead of pain. 

He pinned Theon by the small of his back, chest laying flat on the kitchen table. The slave gripped the edge of the wood with white knuckles. His knees trembled and he begged for more. Roose was also kind in reaching around to give Theon’s hard cock a few strokes with a tight closed fist as he came. That way he didn’t have to endure the same so-good-it-hurt feeling from this morning. Theon’s insides squeezed and clenched and spasmed tight around Roose’s knowing fingers, and the slave cried out louder then than during either orgasm he’d had yet. 

“Good,” Roose murmured knowingly as he stroked the slave’s cock. “Good, Theon. Good boy.” There was only a drop or two of come left in him, and it fell thick and sticky to the kitchen floor. He’d come so much, he was nearly spent.

When it was all over and his knees had stopped shaking and he’d caught his breath, Theon spoke. “Was that a reward too?” He asked, sounding cheeky. 

Roose slid his fingers out of the slave’s thoroughly used hole and gave him a hard slap on the ass. It was still cherry red from this morning, and Theon cried out softly. “Watch that smart mouth of yours, boy.” Roose warned him. “That was what I bought you for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i hope u all enjoyed the smut. leave a comment below if you'd like or [hmu on tumblr!](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok just a little update today! lots of descriptions of sex in this chapter, tho it's different than the last. this chapter is more of a bridge really, but i hope u guys still like it! no new tags.
> 
> and i want to say thank you to my amazing beta subwaywolf. a long time ago i told him i'd write him a birthday fic and he suggested a handful of pairings including reek and ramsay and i was like 'huh?? ppl??? ship these guys?' and now look how far i've come :') full bolton trash. i never would have written this if it weren't for him, bUT THAT'S NOT ALL HE BETA-READ THIS WHOLE THING TOO. thank you for all you've done in helping me become the writer i am today, and thank you for all your hard work on this fic!

Life began anew for Roose and Theon now that the slave could be used for his intended purpose.

Instead of bath time in the evenings, Theon joined Roose in the shower every morning. They had to set the alarm clock to wake them up even earlier because showers became quite lengthy. Sometimes they fucked, but they abstained more often than not. A lot of mornings they simply spent holding one another under the warm water; Theon half asleep with his head rested against Roose’s chest.

Without baths to worry about, their evenings were freed up for other activities. They could have used that time to fuck as well, but they didn’t. Theon’s arms were getting soft, and his calves and thighs were looking thin. Roose liked the slave with a little muscle to him, and he wanted the boy to stay fit. They spent half of their evenings in the back yard. Roose supervised from the back porch as the slave worked up a sweat exercising.

Theon loved it. He liked running through the grass. He liked working off energy. He liked to show off his strength. He made a show of how eager he was to please Roose. He pushed himself to do one more rep than he had the night before, or one more sit up, or one more lap at full speed. He was always a sweaty mess when he was done, but Roose liked the look of him all slick and glistening. He didn’t mind the smell either. The scent of the slave’s sweat was so human and earthy. Roose found himself enticed by it. Theon often got shoved hard against the back door and kissed roughly after working out. Roose’s self-control was impressive, or else he might end up pinning Theon to the grass and fucking him right in the backyard. That hadn’t happened yet, but Roose thought maybe one day it could.

Roose always gave Theon a good rub down with wash cloth before bed in order to uphold a little cleanliness. They curled up with one another and slept well while spooning each other, and in the morning it started all over again when Roose dragged a sleepy Theon to the shower with him to scrub the dirt off of him from the night before.

Saturdays sometimes included going to a kennel. Seeing as Roose still did not feel comfortable leaving Theon home alone, or in the care of another at the training facility, Theon continued to accompany him. The slave continued to impress Roose with his behavior whenever he was taken out. It was almost always as if he were not there at all. He continued to stay out of the way and be silent and seen instead of heard. They did end up at one kennel where they conditions were discouraging, to say the least. Theon was clearly upset afterwards, but he didn’t say anything. Roose commended him for his good sense to stay quiet on the subject and instructed the slave to do better at hiding his feelings in the future.

Theon continued to attend auctions as well. He was still a little nervous after the first, but by his third and fourth he was comfortable with the routine of them. Acquaintances and fellow slave trainers would often speak to Roose and inquire about his pretty little sex slave. Theon did well representing Roose, always smiling sweetly and blushing without intending to. His chest always turned such a lovely shade of pink, and Roose was not the only one to enjoy it.

The way others looked at Theon never failed to remind Roose just what he had on his hands. No matter how stubborn the slave had been in the beginning and how many times he still needed to give Theon a good hard spanking for misbehavior, it was all worth it when someone else eyed Theon with the intent to devour him. He was not theirs to devour, though - he belonged to Roose.

It was after auctions and trips to the kennel that Roose found himself wanting to fuck Theon the most. Usually he had the wherewithal to wait until the next day so they could spend their Sunday fucking like animals. Sometimes he gave in to the urgency and tore into Theon as soon as they were home. On one such occasion he’d mounted the slave in the foyer, fucking him into the hardwood of the entryway. Theon’s fingers had scrabbled, nails scratching over the flooring. There were still slight marks in the finish.

Theon loved to be fucked, and hard. Roose was dully aware of the fact the slave could just be smart enough to fool him, though he doubted it. Theon came every time; body arching, chest panting, loud moaning, fist clenching orgasms. Whether Roose used slick lube, or the water of the shower, or a quick lick of spit, Theon came. Whether Roose fucked him hard and fast or slow and gentle, he came. Whether Roose touched his cock, or he touched his own cock, he came. He even came hard when he was forced to go without having his cock touched at all, and he was getting better at that as well.

The slave was learning new things every day. They started out simple, and worked with what they knew. Theon learned how it felt to be fucked with his thighs wrapped tightly around Roose’s waist, or how it felt with his knees drawn up to his chest, or on his hands and knees, or bent over the edge of the mattress, or however and wherever Roose wanted him. The next exciting step was for Theon to ride Roose’s cock, instead of just taking it.

On one Sunday morning, Roose let him have a try. Theon sank down on the length of his cock, straddling Roose’s waist. He moved his hips in sloppy circles, and he had no rhythm what-so-ever, but he did his best. All it took was a little more practice, and he got better. By the end of a month Theon could ride cock like he belonged in a rodeo. He could work up a sweat bouncing up and down on Roose’s dick, and he even learned to use his thighs to rise up and settle back down, slow and steady, fucking himself. He wasn’t as great at that yet, but there was always room to practice.

The thing Theon seemed to like learning his best was gaining better control of his internal muscles. They spent one exciting evening with Theon sitting in Roose’s lap, impaled by his owner’s stiff cock. Theon did all the work, clenching tight around Roose with calculated timing. He loved that. He loved the feeling of having Roose deep, deep inside of him. Squeezing around him showed him just how deep Roose was. The next step to that would be to work on timing in addition to Roose’s movements. Roose planned to practice thrusting in, letting Theon give his hard cock a good clench, and then slowly drawing out. It was a recipe for great sex. That was a lesson for another day, soon to come.

Theon also got better baring down and loosening up for Roose’s cock when he was being entered. The plugs had shown the slave just how easily his body could open, now he had to learn to get there on his own. There were fewer and fewer incidents where he was torn or ripped while being entered. He still ached after most of their sex, and his hole was always a little raw, but that was why they only fucked once a week. 

Well. Usually it was once a week. Sometimes it ended up being more. Sometimes Theon just looked like he needed a cock in his ass while they were in Roose’s office, and Roose couldn’t resist bending him over the desk. Other times they were on the couch, or curled up in bed for the night, or Theon had just finished his last lap around the house and he was panting like a dog and they barely made it in through the back door before Roose was pinning him to the wall.

Theon learned to give hand jobs as well. There was no real finesse to that, it was basic in nature but a handy skill to have. He knew how he liked to touch his own cock, it was just a matter of transferring those motions over and using his fingers on someone else instead. Learning hand jobs crossed over into learning blow jobs, and that opened up another brand new world for them. Roose planned to teach the slave to deep throat, but as they started lessons in giving head he soon learned how awful Theon was at it. Genuinely terrible.

The slave’s first lesson in this had been during one of their showers. Roose instructed Theon to get down on his knees and give his cock some easy licks. That wasn’t so hard. Just to lick it the same way he licked his own come off of things when he made a mess. Theon did a well enough job at that. The next step was the incorporate those hand-jobs he was good at in along with the licking. That had been ill timed, and messy. Roose made the utter mistake of instructing Theon to take the tip of his cock in his mouth, and that was how he learned the slave had no awareness of his teeth.

Teaching Theon to give head was going to include quite a few bites in Roose’s future, and he just wasn’t looking forward to it. He put it off instead. He planned to move to orgasm control, and sounding next, and when Theon was comfortable with both of those things they could circle back to blow jobs. Roose was eagerly awaiting the day he could force his cock down the back of the slave’s throat and watch his face turn purple. He dreamt of gagging noises. That would likely be the day Theon would earn his collar. It was a long ways off still, but it was certainly in their future.

Theon did still get in trouble. When he was happy, he had a tendency to run his mouth. He often mistook his relationship with Roose as more casual than it was. He asked questions he didn’t need to know the answer to, and had started to sulk when he didn’t get a reply. Roose trained that sulking out of him one hard lash of a belt at a time. Thankfully, he had never had cause to punish Theon with more than five to ten quick snaps. The slave still remembered the sixty lash punishment he’d had to endure and practically cowered at the sight of Roose drawing his belt from his belt loops.

There would always be problems, and a few times Theon needed reminders that if he could not behave he would simply be sold. Roose hoped he would never have to take it that far, but at the same time he didn’t make idle threats. Most of the time Theon behaved well. Roose liked training for him, and he didn’t even mind caring for him that much. The benefits almost always outweighed the effort of keeping the slave. Roose liked having Theon around, and as long as the slave continued to improve that would never have to change.

Roose was confident in Theon to do better and better in everything they did. There were no surprises now. He would go to new kennels, sure, but kennels were not new to him. He would go to new auctions, but auctions weren’t new either. He might learn something new in the bedroom, but sex was not new to him. Even if they went out somewhere they hadn’t before, being polite and respectful and well behaved was not new to Theon either. Anything else he needed to understand, Roose would guide him in. 

There was one thing, though. One thing he hadn’t done yet. Theon still had to go to his first showcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok thanks for reading! theon and roose will be off on a brand new adventure, a fancy showcase where roose will show off his slaves to other trainers! what fun could lay in wait for them? come back and find out :) !! also feel free to leave a comment or [hmu on tumblr](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask)!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends! please enjoy my favorite chapter of this entire fic. the other chapters are good, but the world building in this update was my absolutely favorite thing to write. i hope all of you enjoy! no new tags, but be prepared for things that have already been tagged!
> 
> also i would like to say thank you to subwaywolf who was my motivational coach throughout this whole writing process. every time i wanted to quit or give up, every time i complained about how hard this was to write and edit, during the creation and completion of this entire fic he was a great source of motivation and inspiration. thank you subwaywolf. you were cheering for me the entire way, and you helped bring this fic to the finish line by beta-reading it for me like a true champion. thank you!

The most stressful thing about showcases was the travel. Roose generally disliked travel on its own, but hauling slaves with him was another part to the ordeal that he just didn’t care for. At auctions he went through the trouble of taking thirteen slaves with him, but at showcases he only took seven. It became too costly otherwise. At auctions he was guaranteed to sell what he brought with him, but at showcases that wasn’t necessarily true. 

Roose always took two trainers with him. One to help corral the seven slaves, and one to help represent his business. Locke and Ryswell, respectively. In the past he had always taken slave 59294 with him, the slave who had been abused and burned by his previous owners.

59294 was fully trained, and bright. His scars kept him from being sold on the market, but he was good for business. He showed potential buyers just what kind of work Roose could do. He could take a slave who had been abused and mistreated and turn them into a confident, well behaved, fully efficient sex slave. This time, however, Roose was bringing Theon. Theon had done well enough everywhere else, and this was the last true new experience for him. The sooner Theon went to a showcase, the better.

Roose and Theon had worked on his behavior for almost a full week beforehand. Roose impressed upon him just how important this was going to be. Other trainers, well known owners, and potential customers would be talking to him. They might be touching him or giving him orders. Roose reminded Theon of Wyman Manderly and the way he’d behaved and he told the slave to expect the same type of behavior. Thankfully this showcase was for sex slaves only so Wyman would not be showing there, but other men who were equally as lecherous would be.

Theon grew more and more nervous as the showcase approached.

“What if I mess up?” he asked Roose one evening, curled up under the covers with him. He was having a hard time getting to sleep. He seemed to think that if he was awake he should be keeping Roose up too with inane questions. Roose had given him permission to ask anything he needed to in order to feel prepared for the showcase, but he was regretting that now.

“If you misbehave, I will punish you when we return home.” Roose explained.

That seemed to worry Theon. “But… you won’t sell me, will you?” The slave asked fearfully. Roose did often remind Theon that he had no reason to keep a misbehaving slave.

“That’s impractical,” Roose informed him. “Who there would buy you after seeing you misbehave?”

Theon didn’t like that answer at all. He turned his shoulder to Roose and curled tighter on himself and pretended to be asleep. Roose supposed he could have been kinder, but Theon should know better by now than to need coddling. The slave was feeling tender again by the morning because he’d clung to Roose in the shower. He expressed his nervousness and concern in soft mumbling words.

“I just want to be good,” he said earnestly. 

Roose appreciated his desire. “You will be,” he promised the slave. “I’m seeing to that now; you will be.”

That had been two days ago, when Roose was far less beset. The week itself had been a whirlwind. Roose had to pick out the best seven slaves in his lot; the most impressive and eager ones with the best training, the best looks, and the best manners. More than twenty were brought in for him to see and he had no difficulty narrowing it down. 

After Roose picked the slaves he wanted to bring to the showcase, their files had to be pulled and their processing paperwork and contracts had to be readied for sale on the day of the show, should someone take interest. They had to be tattooed and groomed beforehand, but more grooming supplies were to be brought with them because it was still three days till the show; hair would grow back.

That was another chore: packing. Roose was above most of the packing, he had his two trainers to bring whatever was necessary for the slaves. Not just the paperwork and files and grooming supplies, but cock rings and collars, lube and sanitizer for the show floor, and pamphlets of information about Bolton slaves to be handed out and available. 

Roose did need to pack for himself and Theon, though. Thankfully Theon wasn’t allowed clothes, so that was relatively easy, but packing was different when there was another person to consider. There was a little section of Roose’s suitcase squared away for Theon’s toothbrush and comb; the slave’s two worldly possessions.

Theon could tell how tense Roose was getting. He did not show it in mannerisms or demeanor, he was the same stoic and commanding force he always was, but with how much time they spent with each other it was easy to tell when one was off even if nothing obvious had changed about them. He stayed out of the way, and he stayed quiet. 

The night before they left, after everything was packed and ready, Theon offered to ride Roose’s cock. “It might help?” he tried innocently. 

Roose figured the boy was just being a cockslut, but he didn’t disagree that a little release wouldn’t hurt anything. He let Theon straddle his lap and sit on his cock. They laced their fingers, and the slave used Roose’s arms and his own to keep balance. He fucked himself expertly, squeezing tight around Roose at all the right times. His moans were soft and muted but genuine. Roose enjoyed himself enough to come. Theon stroked his own cock, and Roose let him come, too. 

Theon curled up on Roose’s chest with Roose’s softening cock still inside of him. He murmured thank you’s and kissed at Roose’s skin. Roose stroked the slave’s hair. This was what he had bought a slave for, precisely this. He had never envisioned this scenario in his mind before. He’d always thought about buying a nice young virgin to breech for the first time, and Roose had gotten that. This was the rest of it though; this was the reason he kept Theon around. 

He thought about saying something kind, but instead he turned up the boy’s face and kissed him on the mouth and told him to go to bed. 

In the morning they started a long day of travel. The Kingsroad tickets had been bought well in advance, and on the day before the showcase they left. They drove one of the vans out towards Winterfell, as it was the nearest station, and from there they took a bullet train to Moat Cailin. 

The seven slaves were hooded and cuffed for the duration of the van ride, and they were left to sit in the seatless section of the back of the van. Theon curled up with Roose and laid his head in his owner’s lap, but he did not sleep because he was too nervous. The ride from The Dreadfort to Winterfell was the longest part of the trip, really. Roose spent it reading emails on his tablet and checking in with everything back at the facility. He left the place in the hands of Walton (better known as Steelshanks among the slaves), his head disciplinarian. He knew the man could handle the task for a few days, as he had done it before, but Roose still worried. 

Roose often took the Kingsroad to showcases and he was rather familiar with this station. The Kingsroad station wasn’t really in Winterfell, but it was near enough to call it that. Every time he had ever shown up here, it was bustling with people. When the Starks were still in business, the whole area surrounding their training facility had been busy with travelers coming and going. Now it was empty.

As per most Kingsroad stations, the outside was a grandiose building with Corinthian columns that stretched up three stories and were as big around as a sequoia trunk. Inside the station it was all vintage art deco wrought in pale golds and light tans and bronzes. There was always some faux-period clock tower ticking away in the center of the station lobby to offset the ostentatious modern tickers that showed train times in pixelated LED screens. The Kingsroad was notorious for two things: its ability to get from King’s Landing to anywhere in Westeros in four hours or less, and its punctuation. In all the time the trains had been running, a Kingsroad bullet train had never been any later than 36 seconds exactly. Roose appreciated such punctuality.

Winterfell’s Kingsroad station had three levels. There was the main level that held nothing but the lobby and useless shops like magazine stands, a few cafes, an information center, and a place to buy train tickets. The upper level had L trains that transversed the local area. The sublevel was where the bullet trains were housed and boarded.

Roose and his trainers had to go through minimal security to get to their train terminal. The unsold seven slaves were required to be cuffed on account of their status, and they were done up in zip ties at the wrist. Roose had to show his ownership papers for Theon. Normally this process took hours and the lines to get through to the sublevel were horrendous, but today there was no one here. There were only six people in line ahead of Roose’s group, and no other large groups of slaves to contend with. This was almost unheard of. Roose was glad, though, as this made his life much easier.

The sublevel was much darker than the lobby. In the lobby there were high-up windows that let the sun in to shine down on the speckled tile floors. In the sublevel, there was no sun. The walls were tiled instead in heavy ceramics and the floors were concrete. The concrete was worn-looking from the feet of many travelers. There were terminals for the different bullet trains, identified by great big black placards with clear white lettering. They found the staging area for the train to Moat Cailin.

There were a few others waiting for same train, but no large groups of slaves. When the Starks had been in business, there had always been some employee carting around a load of drab-looking companions dressed all in grey. Roose liked it better this way. The station was a little lonely, but he didn’t mind it. There were wide wooden benches next to the train tracks to sit on, but they were taken by other travelers so Roose and his group stood out of the way.

The slaves had been dehooded after their van ride, and most of them had never seen a Kingsroad station before. It was likely that none of them had ever ridden a bullet train either. They pretended not to be interested in everything they saw, trying to maintain some tact, but they were a curious lot. Theon was as well, but he had a dire expression on his face rather than one of interest or excitement.

“Alright?” Roose asked him. Gods help this slave if he was feeling unwell or something similar. They had only spent a day in the car, the whole showcase was still ahead of them. Theon couldn’t get sick now.

“I’ve been here before,” he said, swallowing and glancing around.

Roose stared at him.

“...when I was little.” He looked around again. “We stopped here and took big… big golden stairs up.” Bronze escalators. Roose knew the ones. “They put me on a rattly train to Winterfell and I sat alone...” He cut himself off, moving closer to Roose.

Roose wrapped an arm around Theon’s shoulders, pulling him close. He stroked the slave’s hair. “Don’t cry,” he commanded. This was no time for tears.

Theon nodded and murmured “yes, ser” but dampened Roose’s shirt anyway. His thin shoulders shook as he tried to hide his sobs, and he stifled any noises.

When their train arrived precisely on time, they boarded in an orderly fashion. Because Roose had unsold slaves with him, they boarded a car specifically for transporting large groups of slaves. It wasn't the height of luxury sitting in barely cushioned bench seats, but that was the price one paid for training and transporting slaves. Roose could have bought a luxury ticket and left his trainers in the group-slave car, but there was no need for such flagrancy.

Theon sat beside him, quickly drying his reddened eyes. By the time they left the sublevel tunnels of the Winterfell station, he was finished with his tears. Sun came pouring in through the windows of the train, lighting up the slave's pale skin and dark hair.

"I'm sorry, ser," Theon whispered as he lay his head on Roose's shoulder.

"Do better," Roose warned him.

The slave nodded.

The train reached speeds of 200 miles per hour, and the empty countryside passed by them in a whir. They reached Moat Cailin in less than two hours. The Kingsroad station they arrived at was easily three times as busy as the one they’d departed from, and it still wasn’t especially busy. Roose had had the misfortune of dealing with the stations at both Oldtown and King’s Landing. Both of them were always packed and crowded with travelers. Mostly no one was interested in traveling past the Neck, especially since the Starks had gone out of business. The Moat Cailin station could not compare to King’s Landing even on its busiest day.

They took a taxi, a large van meant to hold fifteen people, to their hotel. It was a part of the three buildings that made up the titular Moat Cailin. The whole town was surrounded by swamps; bayous from the Riverlands. Moat Cailin, a collection of three towers interconnected by skywalks, sat in the middle of the town. The three buildings were circled by a man-made moat that made for a nice little tourist trap. 

Everywhere Roose looked there was moss hanging from trees and green lichen crawling up the sides of buildings. Weeping willows wilted in ways even weeping willows should not. The town was old, and rotting from the inside out. There used to be bigger buildings here, but they’d gone into disuse and were eventually condemned and torn down. Even the towers that were still up looked like their fate was uncertain. There was always news of some grand plan to revamp the place; to put slaves to work on renovating the towers or building new ones. It never happened.

The three towers had official names based on the benefactors who had paid to build the place years and years and years ago. Now they were known as the Children’s Tower, the Gatehouse Tower, and the Drunkard’s tower. They stretched up towards the sky, and with their many floors inside they held all kinds of things. 

There was an entire mall and food court in the Children’s Tower. There were businesses somewhere high up in the Gatehouse Tower, along with a convention center down on the first two floors. The Drunkard’s tower held bars and restaurants on its lower floors and a nice hotel at its top. Roose had heard that there was a movie theatre at the Children’s Tower as well, and there were things like night clubs and other activities he had no use for. Moat Cailin was the central hub for all activity in the town and it was still a sleepy little place that Roose could consider outdated at best.

The hotel was nice, at least. It was expensive because it was the only one in town so they knew they could jack up the prices, but for the cost it was worth it. Roose had to book a specific room on account of the amount of unsold slaves they had with them, but it was actually quite nice for what it was. There was a large kitchen area, two bathrooms and three other adjacent rooms. One room had a queen bed for Roose and Theon to share, and the other had twin beds for Locke and Ryswell. 

The rooms came with night tables and dressers, closets, large TVs; Roose’s room even had a Juliet balcony that overlooked the moat and surrounding marshes. The last room was the room for housing their slaves, and it was empty. The only things that filled it were soft floor pallets for sleeping, and even then there were only five of them and someone would need to call down to the front desk for two more. The door locked from the outside, and there were no windows and no closets, just soft carpet and sleeping pallets.

The showcase would be down in the convention center of the Gatehouse tower the very next day and Roose decided to ready the slaves that night. Preparing them was similar to preparations for an auction. They didn’t need to have their hair cut or anything, but each slave was bathed with utmost attention and care. They were shaved with straight razors to rid them of any stubble. For dinner they ordered in from the hotel’s catering service and it was almost like sharing a family meal as all the slaves all sat around on the floor eating. Roose and the two trainers did not sit on the floor, but oversaw instead. The slaves were given quick enemas to flush them out and clean them within, after dinner of course.

Theon received his fair share of attention as well. For auctions he need not participate in the rigorous grooming the other slaves were subject to, but for this he was at Roose’s mercy. His hair was brushed, combed, and brushed again. They washed it twice in the bath, once right away and once at the end. Roose did not show that he was tired from helping to ready the other slaves, but Theon had stood by his side the entire time and he knew his owner had to be run down a little. Especially after traveling all day.

Theon made it as easy as possible. It had been awhile since Roose had bathed him, but he still knew the routine. He knew when to lift his arms or sit up on his knees or spread his legs. He let Roose rub him dry and comb out his hair. He brushed his teeth quickly and dutifully. Lucky for Theon, he need not receive an enema. Roose didn’t want anyone sticking their fingers inside of his personal slave, so why bother readying him for something that Roose simply wasn’t going to allow to happen?

It was well passed their usual bed time by the time they were finally curled up under the stiff hotel sheets. It wasn’t as cozy as their bed at home, but they held each other close to make up for what their bed lacked in comfort.

“Ser?” Theon nuzzled right up under Roose’s chin. “Would you let me ride your cock again? I might sleep better if…” he trailed off.

Roose entertained the idea, briefly. “I need you well-rested tomorrow, not well-fucked.”

Theon nodded. He was already yawning. The day of travel had taken so much out of him, he would be falling asleep in no time anyway. “Could be fun though…” he murmured, his voice soft and dreamy. “Fucking in a hotel. The others might hear me moaning. I’d try to keep quiet, but the way you fuck me... sometimes it’s so hard…”

Roose smiled softly in the dark, allowing himself to be privately amused because he knew Theon would not be able to see him smile. Maybe he would fuck Theon tomorrow night after the showcase. If he was still in the mood for it. Theon was already drifting off and falling asleep. Roose closed his eyes, nodding off as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please feel free to comment below, or [send me an ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr and we can discuss the #ThrooseSlavefic together


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaa. i know some lovely readers of this fic are here for the slavery au and aren't familiar with the source material. hopefully i won't lose you in this chapter. it's got a lot of details about characters from the books. i've tagged two new characters, Kevan Lannister and Loras Tyrell. they've been tagged bc they get speaking roles but loads of characters are mentioned. 
> 
> also i want to say thank you to subwaywolf who helped me raise this fic up from being just a little seed in my mind to the beautiful fic you see today. he did so much hard work, and he even helped me name it :') this beautiful fanfic baby wouldn't have been able to grow or flourish without his care and effort. thank you subwaywolf. you're the best father a piece of writing could ever ask for.

In the morning, the slaves were roused from their sleeping mats and given breakfast. Each one had their teeth brushed and they were given a quick inspection before they were deemed acceptable. Theon got a little extra attention. He ate from Roose’s hand. His nerves kept him from being hungry, but he forced food down one bite at a time. Unlike the other slaves he had hair that needed brushing, but other than that readying him was equally as easy. Roose dressed in a fine suit, well-fitting and black. He wore pink underneath and a deep red tie. The trainers wore black from head to toe.

The showcase was at the convention center one tower over. They had to take an elevator down and walk across a skywalk to get there, but it was a short trip. They waited in line with large groups of other trainers who were showing that day to get access badges. They were allowed early entrance to the show floor which was already filling up. There were other trainers with samples of their stock, as well as local (and not so local) kennels with slaves on hand.

There were other slave-related businesses setting up as well. A grooming company had bought out two tables on the show floor and moved one table out to set up a free grooming station. There was a company that made cages that boasted to having inescapable locks all ready and trying to sell to trainers. Roose thought that if a slave was escaping its cage and that behavior couldn’t be trained out, it ought to be put down instead of an owner wasting good money on an expensive cage. These were just a few of the different showcase exhibitors who had arrived early. More were sure to be arriving before the floor opened for the day.

The very first thing they did when they found their assigned table was strip off the white table skirt and exchange it for a deep red one they’d brought with them. It stood out immensely. Roose knew that the Lannister table would be golden as soon as the Lannisters arrived, and the Tyrell booth would be littered with flower petals. It only took one small change to stand out, but it made a big difference.

They also changed out the paper tag that read “BOLTON” in big black letters. They discarded the paper entirely and put out a sleek looking pink plastic name plate. They spread information materials over the table top. They had neat pamphlets regarding the type of training Roose did. They also had print outs of a list of upcoming auctions in the north the Boltons would be attending. The last thing they had on the table was a listing of the seven slaves at the showcase and their prices.

When the show floor opened and began admitting attendees, Roose planted two slaves to stand in front of their table. He divided the other five. He took two, and Locke took the other three, and they went in opposite directions on the show floor. Roose left the table in the knowing hands of Ryswell. The three of them were no strangers to showcases, and they knew just what to do without having to be told.

The seven slaves and Theon had been briefed extensively the night before during their dinner about how they were expected to behave. The seven were trying to end up with an owner at the end of the day of course, but first and foremost their duty was to represent Roose Bolton as a trainer. They walked with their arms at their sides instead of hidden behind them, and with their chins held high to show off their collars. They were not instructed to smile at passers-by but instead to maintain straight faces and make no eye contact. Theon was not told to hold himself in such a manner but to keep his head down instead. He had no collar to show off and he wasn’t a fully trained Bolton slave. He was Roose’s personal slave and it was important that people knew the distinction.

They were meant to walk the show floor, intermingling with guests and other trainers, but with Roose’s luck he ran immediately into Kevan Lannister and his dull son Lancel, and those two couldn’t just walk on by with a knowing nod like any other self-respecting trainer would, Kevan had to stop and say hello. 

Of course it would be Kevan here today and not his older brother or any of his more famed nephews or his niece. Roose supposed it was better that way. He wasn’t sure he wanted to make conversation with any other Lannister beside the ones standing before him here and now.

“Bolton,” Kevan greeted politely. He glanced at the two collared slaves flanking Roose’s sides, standing just behind him. He was a smart man with a keen eye and he did not disapprove of what he saw. “Glad to see you here.”

Roose didn’t quite have an answer for that. “And you,” he said softly, voice barely rising above the loud din that covered the show floor. 

Kevan stepped in closer to hear him. “It always strikes me how tough your slaves look,” Kevan told him.

Roose wasn’t sure that that was a compliment. “They won’t hurt you unless you ask them to,” he assured.

That made Kevan laugh. He was a shorter man than Roose, and bigger around the waist than Roose was as well. He had a short blonde beard and thinning hair on his head and his green eyes that were wisened and knowing. So far as Roose could tell, he handled the majority of the sex slaves the Lannisters trained along with his niece who headed the operation. She oversaw, while he was more hands-on. Roose tried not to be too critical of them. They did a good enough job, but he was wary of all Lannister business practices.

“Is that something your slaves are trained to do?” Kevan asked him, still smiling.

That would be interesting. There had to be some slave owners who were submissive in nature. Maybe Roose ought to start training slaves to cater to submissive owners. Of course, if you give a slave an inch of power they’re like to take a mile and end up getting themselves in trouble. He simply shook his head. “They’re trained to please, yes, but they know their place.”

“Oh?” Kevan turned his attention to the collared slave at Roose’s right. “And what’s your place, boy?”

“Wherever my owner tells me it is.” The slave replied quickly, completely believing the words he said as he said them.

That made Kevan smile, too. “You have a way with them, Roose.”

Roose preferred being called Bolton. He wasn’t so sure he was on first name basis with the Lannisters just yet, but he didn’t say that, he said, “Thank you,” and nodded. Since it was polite to compliment other trainers he decided he ought to do that as well. “If my slaves are tough, than yours are beautiful as always.”

Kevan had four slaves flanking him, and his son Lancel was bringing up the rear. The slaves were all taller than Kevan by at least three or four inches with rippling bodies, perfect skin, and gold hair that fell to softly frame their beautiful faces. Their collars were solid gold, circlets with hinges that snapped and locked. Their wrists were cuffed with gold as well. They were naked, but their shoulders and chests had been brushed with a fine golden powder that left them shining and glittering on the show floor. If anyone could pull this off and make the look seem tactful, it was the Lannisters.

“You can take one home with you, if you think they’re so beautiful,” Kevan said, cleverly trying to sell to Roose.

“I have my own personal slave, thank you.” Roose said, glad for the excuse. In all the years he’d been coming to showcase he’d had to use some other unimpressive line that trainers never wanted to hear. Like they really thought he would buy a sex slave from anyone else and not train one himself.

Kevan was surprised by that. “Really? I wasn’t aware. Is he new?”

Roose disliked that tone of surprise, but he nodded. “Theon,” Roose said over his shoulder. “Come say hello to Kevan Lannister.”

Theon had stayed appropriately out of the way until then when he stepped up to Roose’s shoulder. He kept his eyes on Kevan’s feet. “Hello, ser,” he greeted politely.

Kevan reached out, tipping the slave’s chin up. “Gorgeous,” he murmured softly. “Lannisters don’t sell slaves with dark hair or we’d have the privilege of selling tall, dark, and handsome ones just like you.”

Theon smiled slightly, and his ears turned a bit little pink. Roose knew that ought to win Kevan over, and he hoped that his slave would never learn to take a compliment without blushing.

“Thank you, ser,” Theon said politely. 

Kevan was smart enough to leave it there. “We should be going, really. Plenty of customers who haven’t seen a gilded Lannister slave yet. I should be off fixing that.”

Roose nodded, and they went their separate ways. He made sure he went in the opposite direction of Kevan, not particularly interested in running into him again. 

The show floor was beginning to fill up. Since the showcase was specific to sex slaves, there were products being sold at different tables that were specific to sex slaves as well. Down one aisle there were booths filled with nothing but sex toys. Owners perused with their personal slaves following along behind them, picking out new toys to play with. At other tables there were leathers; harnesses, and strapwork for slaves to wear, but also whips and floggers. These were the types of things not found at all-vocation shows.

Roose tried to avoid any busy aisles or areas. It was easy for groups to get separated in large crowds, and when that happened slaves were as worthless as lost children. It was almost as if they had no instinct as to find their owner or get back to the table they’d started the day at. Luckily showcase security was trained in helping lost slaves find their owners, but it was always best to play it safe and avoid the busier parts of the show room. Roose disliked having to glance over his shoulder to make sure he was still being followed, but he did it anyway. In any other situation it would imply undisciplined slaves who needed constant watching, but here it meant safety.

A few curious men dressed well enough to look like they could afford Bolton slaves recognized Roose as a trainer and stopped him. They asked about the type of slaves he sold and both got very up close and personal looks at the slaves at Roose’s sides.

At any showcase, regardless of if it was for sex slaves or not, there were latex gloves on every tabletop and at every booth. There were always bottles of sanitizer next to the gloves, and at sex slave showcases lube was included next to the sanitizer. Small waste bins were tucked under nearly every table as well, and staff came through to change out the trash bags nearly every five minutes to keep things especially clean.

It was not uncommon to see someone snapping on a latex glove and bending a slave over. Most tables were considered fair game and it was common courtesy to let a slave lean on the edge, even if they were not your slave and it was not your table. The walls of any showcase floor room were usually lined with slaves braced up against them as well.

Roose let one of his slaves be felt up and fingered. When the interested men were finished feeling and singing their praises, Roose instructed them where to find more information and a price list at his booth. He was quiet as he spoke and he politely encouraged them to purchase one of his slaves but he was not desperate. If they wanted one, they would make an offer. If they were only here to finger fuck a few sex slaves for free, than that made these men two of many. It was a bad idea to spend too much time trying to sell to anyone, so Roose moved on.

They passed a small cluster of Redwyne slaves being lead down an aisle by a tall, maven of a woman. She could have been the very same one from the auction a few months back at Long Lake, but Roose scarcely remembered. They nodded in passing but did not stop to speak. The Redwynes sold mostly females, but they were surprisingly progressive with their stock. 

Roose remembered a time when Redwynes only offered up petite young girls with careful curves and soft faces, all pale of skin. Now the Redwynes had a range. Some of their female slaves were strong and muscular, some were tall and thin, some were short and curvy, and others fell all in between. They sold girls with black hair, brown hair, red hair, blonde hair; curly, wavy, frizzy, short, long. There were girls were strong jaws, and girls with high cheekbones. There were girls with pear shaped bodies and girls with bodies like hourglasses.

Roose appreciated the selection. It was not dissimilar with his own stock. He believed in a strong range of choices across the board. He had always respected the Redwynes well enough, and saw them often at showcases and auctions, but never felt particularly inclined to make a friend of them. He was not interested in the nuances of selling female slaves and he supposed he wouldn’t have much to discuss with Paxtor Redwyne or his trainers.

The sheer opposite of the Redwynes’ slaves, Roose passed by a lot of Westerlings next. Like the Redwynes they only sold females, but unlike the Redwynes they were still stuck on the concept of only selling young girls with supple bodies and precisely the same look to them. Roose found their slaves mousey, in truth. They were all so short, and small, with bangs that covered their eyes and long straight hair.

The Westerlings had been selling sex slaves for as long as the sun had been rising and setting. Roose expected they were probably one of the first large training companies in Westeros. They didn’t have the ability to keep up with the times, though, and what was once an impressive business dwindled down to the small mousiness he saw before him today.

Considering the fact that they sold sex slaves, Westerlings were surprisingly conservative. They still believed that it was only females that should serve sexually. They didn’t even have the guts to parade their slaves around showcases and auctions naked. Their girls were always wearing soft pastel panties and bras, all lace and frill, covered by see-through shifts that were better suited as night gowns than show floor attire.

Roose only nodded politely, the same way he’d done with the Redwynes as he passed. He had no interest in networking with Westerlings.

They were stopped again and again by men, and a few women, who had come to the showcase looking to buy (or at least poke and prod) a few slaves. Roose made sure that the attention stayed on the two collared Bolton slaves at his side, but that didn’t mean Theon didn’t get his fair share of attention too. With a face like his he certainly was hard to ignore.

After a while of working the floor, Roose circled back towards their table to check in on things and found that someone had made an offer on one of the slaves he’d left standing at the table. He gave the go ahead for the sale for when the potential buyer returned and then he left to make a second sweep of the show floor. It got twice as crowded as the morning stretched on. He thought for certain he would run into Mace Tyrell with a gaggle of naked slaves behind him but he did not catch even so much as a hint of rosewater.

He did end up running into a few Martells, though. If Roose was interested in female slaves and if, hypothetically, he had to pick another trainer to buy from, he would settle for one of theirs. Martell slaves were beautiful. They were always toweringly tall with lengthy black hair and skin kissed by the sun. They were wrought in bronze and copper, intricate metal latticework garments interconnected by flowing orange cloth that showed off just enough of their well endowed bodies. Roose saw a power in them that he did not see in many slaves aside from his own, and he approved of it.

It was always a surprise to see who would be on the show floor or leading their slaves at an auction when it came to the Martells. Even Doran, the patriarch of the company who was old and unwell, was often seen at showcases sitting patiently behind the Martell table. It was just as likely Roose could run into their head trainer Oberyn as he would anyone else.

The Martells were curious purveyors in raising slaves from their bonds. Most slaves were slaves until they died excepting few conditions, but the Martells liked to pluck their most learned slaves from their stock to let them teach other slaves using their hands on experience and knowledge. Once a slave had earned the rank of teacher it was easy for them to level up to trainer, and soon they were no longer being bought and sold but working for the company that had created them. Oberyn Martell seemed to be single handedly responsible for this, and he was as proud of his slave-trainers as he was his own family. He treated them like family despite where they’d started. It was admirable in its own way.

Roose was attempting, not for the first time, to do something similar. He had made a deal with a slave of his, a young boy named Damon. Damon had been sent away to learn disciplinary training, and he would come back and work for Roose until he could buy himself freedom. Damon was due back the same time Ramsay was, and the date of their return was slowly creeping up on him. He’d freed slaves in the past for different reasons, but this was the first time he was attempting to turn one into a trainer. Roose supposed he should thank the Martells for paving the way for something like this to happen. If it hadn’t been for them doing this type of thing first, Roose might have been scoffed at for trying it himself.

He did not recognize the trainer with the Martell slaves. He suspected it was Arianne Martell, Doran’s daughter. Whoever this trainer was, she was certainly beautiful enough to be Arianne, but it could have just as easily been any one of Oberyn’s hand picked slave-trainers. Arianne, if it was her, was busy speaking to potential customers and Roose knew it was rude to disrupt a sale. He moved on.

At noon, Roose slipped off of the show floor with his three slaves behind him. There was a sectioned off area where only trainers and other showcase presenters were allowed. It resembled more of a hallway than anything else. Other trainers had gotten the same idea as Roose to give their stock a little break from the chaos of the show floor and give them some food. The hall did have some light traffic of men carrying boxes in and out and showcase custodial staff carrying trash bags out. Still, it wasn't as busy here as it was on the floor, and best of all there weren’t potential customers to contend with.

They found a quiet place to rest along one wall. No sooner had Roose given his two collared slaves some food, and had begun to hand-feed Theon, did he smell roses.

Across the hall and a few paces down he spotted Tyrells. Beautiful Tyrell slaves; gorgeous young things with supple bodies, naked as the day they were born. He expected Mace to be leading them, puffing up his big chest, red faced from circling the floor all morning. To his surprise he spotted Mace’s son Loras instead. He was prettier than the slaves he sold, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand. He could care less about the goings on around him, and there was a trainer over seeing his stock instead of him.

Loras looked up from his phone suddenly, as if he could feel Roose’s pale eyes on him. He spotted the trainer across the way and after a very, very long moment he smiled a sort of unpleasant smile and made his way over.

Loras Tyrell had soft brown curls that bounced around his face. He was as handsome as they came, and he had a smart sense of fashion to match. A rose was pinned in the lapel of his suit and he managed to make it seem charming instead of as ridiculous as it was.

“Roose Bolton,” he said as if they knew each other on their approach. He stuck out his hand, and when Roose shook it he noted the boy’s firm handshake. “I’ve heard good things about your slaves.”

“And I yours,” Roose said solemnly.

Loras gave an appraising look of the two collared slaves too busy eating to bother presenting themselves properly. To be fair, Loras’s own stock were all sitting sprawled in the hallway in various stages of sticking their legs out in front of them and sitting with their legs crossed. This was an interesting view considering they were all bare naked.

“Such a serious, dreary lot you all are,” Loras said then. “We sell sex slaves for god’s sake, we should all be smiling more.”

Roose wasn’t sure if he cared for the Loras’s brash tone and he stared straight at him in response, not speaking.

“They told me you were quiet.” Loras noticed Theon then, and leaned around Roose to get a look at him. “How about you, have you got a smile at least?”

Theon looked up in confusion and then glanced at Roose. He didn’t know what to do.

“Not even this one, huh?” Loras shrugged. “Notherners.” His phone chirped in his hand and he glanced at it briefly. “At least we met off the floor. Showcases are terrible places to talk to trainers. It’s like we’re not all going mad trying to sell out there and we’re actually supposed to stop what we’re doing to have a chat in the midst of the crowds?” his expression showed what he thought of that idea.

Roose thought carefully about what to say. “I saw your brother Willas, recently,” he informed in a soft voice.

Loras leaned in to hear him better, and made a face of pleasant surprise. “Did you?” His phone chirped again. When he glanced at it, he frowned. “That's lovely but I… should make a call,” he decided, stepping away. "I'll talk to you another time perhaps."

Not that Roose was one to pry, but he could clearly see the contact information of who it was texting Loras. 'Renly' was written on the touch screen with an emoticon of what appeared to be a deer and, inexplicably, an eggplant. 

Renly could be referring to anyone of course but there were rumors among the trainers that Loras Tyrell was fucking Renly Baratheon. There was some big to-do about a potential conglomeration between Tyrells and Baratheons that was due to happen if the two of them stayed together. Roose could think of nothing more unfortunate than soldier slaves and sex slaves being trained at the same company. It would certainly give the Lannisters a run for their money to see another multi-vocation enterprise, but that was a terrible idea. Truly.

For the sake of the business Roose hoped it was all just rumors. There were rumors that were spread about him as well, that he flayed the flesh off of slaves who did not behave and lined the walls of training facility with skin. Roose knew better than to put stock in any such non-sense. Besides, thinking of Renly Baratheon only made his mind wander to his insufferable older brother Stannis Baratheon and Roose would rather not think of either of those two at all. 

Roose didn’t think it was possible that he actually would have rather spoken to Loras's oaf of a father Mace.

Roose instructed his slaves to hurry up and to finish eating. When they were done they found Locke and the three slaves with him. Roose relieved him from the show floor allowing for those slaves to have a short break as well. By then things were much busier than before they'd stepped out to eat. Areas that hadn’t been crowded earlier definitely were now. There was no way to pass through an aisle without a chance of getting split.

“Stay close,” Roose instructed.

They cut through a crowded intersection and when he glanced behind him to be sure that everyone was there, Theon was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun dunnnn. thanks for reading! come back find out what happened to theon in the next chapter! feel free to leave a comment if you like or [send me an ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! thanks for waiting so patiently for an update, and thanks for all your comments! i hope you enjoy this chapter.
> 
> im not going to tag it officially, but there is vomit in this chapter so watch out emetophobes. (it's only mentioned, not described in any great detail). also a new character has been tagged, gregor clegane. 
> 
> thanks as always to my wonderful beta subwaywolf :) can you believe a beautiful wolf, an endangered species, used it's little wolf paws to fix all my mistakes and edit all my bad writing away? incredible. thank you for all your hard work subwaywolf. i hope the next time u howl at the moon or ride to subway it is especially enjoyable! you deserve it pal c:

It was almost an hour before Roose found Theon again. It was like the slave had been swept away in a tide. When Roose doubled back the way he came, he did not see the slave anywhere. Theon was smarter than to wander off on his own, and Roose only entertained the idea of him running away for a flash of a second before he wondered if something else hadn’t happened. 

He went back to their table, and when he did not find Theon there he left the two collared slaves with Ryswell and then went to find the showcase security. He spent at least half an hour standing impatiently at the side of a security guard who constantly mumbled into a handheld two way radio. Some kind of altercation had broken out elsewhere on the show floor that needed to be handled and finding a lost slave took a back burner.

“Wait a minute.” The security guard turned to Roose after what felt like ages. She had just been listening to a scratched and mumbled sounding transmission come in from her handheld. “Black hair?” She said, frowning. “With blue eyes? No collar? Answers to the name Theon?”

That was the description he’d given her when he’d first flagged her down. Roose tried not to be annoyed that she needed the clarification. He simply nodded.

“Okay, come with me ser,” she said. “We’ve got him.” 

Roose’s relief was short lived. Theon knew better than to wander off. How he’d managed to get so far separated from Roose was a question that deserved an answer and if the slave didn’t have a good one he would be in for it.

Roose was lead off the show floor and through the convention hall lobby to a hall similar to the one he’d met Loras Tyrell in. Here there were no tired slaves sitting on the ground, it was full of security staff coming and going instead. They passed a few closed doorways and a first aid room. Roose was taken to an unmarked door which was promptly opened for him. The security guard waved him inside. It was a small room filled with other security officers and what looked like a group of trainers. There were boxes in one corner and a plastic table was set up, but mostly it was empty. 

Roose saw Gregor Clegane mixed in with the security staff, and he knew something was very wrong. 

Clegane was a mountain of a man, bigger than any human being ought to be with a mean look on his ugly face. That look never went away no matter the situation. There were rumors that Gregor had been born a slave, but there was no proof to back this up. He had the look of a slave; harshly bred and bullish. 

The Cleganes ran a small slave training business that had a terrible reputation. Their slaves were better suited to be punching bags than sex slaves. Gregor just barely got away with selling them as specialty items for S&M use. Slave Protective Services was always cracking down on them for their training practices, but they were backed by Lannisters. Tywin Lannister may not be willing to damage the public reputation of his line of sex slaves by offering ones that were taught to be hit and hurt, but he had no problem paying for the Cleganes to keep their doors open. Some day someone would find proof of the money Gregor made getting back to Tywin, and Tywin would certainly be in a bind then.

Roose was misliked for his own training techniques. He was thought to be cruel and unkind. Kevan Lannister himself had said that his slaves looked “tough” and Loras was the one who used the word “dreary”. Roose did not train cute little fuck toys, he trained hard working and efficient sex slaves. He was not shy when it came to punishment. 

If soldiers could be trained with a whip and flogger, so too could sex slaves. There were rules about limits and the types of whips allowed to be used and Roose never broke those rules. His disciplinary trainers had to go through specific training and Roose was very strict about who he hired. He may be one of few trainers who trained sex slaves this way, but in his opinion it worked. His treatment of his raw slaves was disapproved of by many. (A certain Stannis Baratheon was chief among the naysayers, and Roose was loathe to be reminded of the man twice in one day.) Roose’s practices, however, were nothing compared to the Cleganes. 

It worried Roose to find Theon in the midst of this man and his crew, a group of trainers all as mean and ugly as Gregor was himself. One of Gregor’s eyes was red at it’s corner down to his cheekbone. Roose could see his head clearly above all the rest in the room. As he stepped closer, through the group of Clegane’s men and through the security he found Theon cowering away from them. His wrists were bound with zip ties and there was a security guard holding him carefully by the shoulders. He was supporting his own shiner, but where Gregor’s eye was barely red Theon’s was black and blue and swollen shut. 

“What happened?” Roose asked calmly and quietly.

“This uncollared brat hit me in the eye!” Gregor roared, much too loud for the little room they were in. 

“He pulled me away from you!” Theon shouted. “He-”

Roose offered Theon a glare so cold and cruel the slave nearly choked. He couldn’t have possibly stopped talking fast enough.

“I’ll see to it he’s reprimanded and punished for his behavior,” Roose said, sounding very disappointed in his slave.

“What the fuck is he doing without a collar, Bolton!” Gregor demanded. 

Roose waited very patiently for Clegane to settle. Gregor looked like he was getting ready to blacken someone else’s eye, and not even a room full of security could stop a beast of a man like him. 

“The reason he is without a collar is because there are parts of his training that are incomplete. He’s been trained on how to behave in public, and he knows better than to raise a hand to anyone. I have never had behavioral problems of this sort with my slave in the past.” Roose informed quietly, the complete opposite of Gregor’s loud, booming voice. 

“An untrained slave,” one of Clegane’s men said, shaking his head.

“What the fuck are you doing with an untrained slave at a showcase!” Gregor asked, turning the words Roose had said on their head. 

Theon wasn’t fully trained, but he was lacking in areas like giving head and controlling his orgasms… not public behavior. There was no way for Roose to explain this of course. His slave had just struck someone; Gregor had a mark. No matter what he said in Theon’s defense he wouldn’t be believed.

“I’m also curious about this,” one of the security guards said. His tone did not invoke curiosity but instead consequences for Roose’s decision to let loose an untrained slave on a showcase full of people. 

“It was a mistake, clearly.” Roose informed in that quiet voice of his. “Would you like to bring legal action against my slave?”

“I should,” Gregor growled, hands clenching into fists. 

“Perhaps you could leave it at the bruise you gave him and I’ll see to it that he’s handled,” Roose suggested instead. The absolute last thing he needed was Gregor Clegane of all people accusing him of training slaves that didn’t know how to behave.

There was a very long moment where Gregor seemed to consider before his gruffness doubled and his jaw clenched and he grunted a word. “Fine.” His barrel chest puffed up and he bulled his way to the door. “You should hope I never see that slave in public again, Bolton,” he said before sweeping out of the room in anger. His men followed with him, all ridiculous caricatures of disappointment like they were just so shocked at Theon’s behavior. It was a cute show for the security guards but Roose was unimpressed. Theon had barely made a mark on Gregor and he’d gotten a black eye in return. 

“I can’t let you take him back on the show floor,” one of the security guards said, the one who had spoken earlier. Roose expected not. 

“I understand,” he said, reaching out for the slave’s arm. “I’ll secure him in my hotel room. Rest assured, he will be punished for his actions.”

The security guard nodded. “Sorry about Clegane. He was unreasonably incensed. He calmed down a bit when you got here, actually, but there was no need for him to hit your slave like he did.” 

Roose nodded. He couldn’t expect every owner and trainer to be as well controlled around others’ slaves. Gregor probably beat his own slaves mercilessly, of course he thought nothing of doing it to someone elses. “Did you see what happened?” Roose asked, only mildly curious. 

“See it? No.” The security guard shook his head. “Clegane admitted to grabbing the slave by the arm and stopping him. He thought it odd there was no collar on him. He says the slave threw a punch then, and Clegane punched back.”

Theon’s face twisted, an expression of disagreement. He seemed to think better of opening his mouth to say anything, though.

“He’s usually better behaved than this. He knows better,” Roose said, expressing even more disappointment. 

“Maybe wait ‘til he’s earned that collar ‘til you take him out again,” the security guard said. Roose did not appreciate that at all. This man likely knew very little about training slaves and he had no right to instruct Roose in the matter. However, he had the power to bring action against Roose and Theon for what had happened, so Roose only nodded in agreement. 

They were escorted out of the room and back down the hall. The hallway opened up to the convention center lobby, busy with people coming to or leaving the showcase. Roose turned the opposite direction away from the bustle. He kept a firm grasp on Theon’s arm the entire time, showing the security officers that he had a handle on his slave. Thankfully they didn’t follow him or try and escort him back to his hotel room. 

Once they crossed the skywalk over to the Drunkard’s Tower they found themselves alone, just the two of them walking the halls of the building. They waited for the elevator in dead silence. Theon did not even dare to lift his chin. Roose’s dissatisfaction was clear, and punishment was imminent, and the whole tone surrounding the two of them was somber and dangerous. 

Roose unlocked their room with a keycard when they reached it and he pulled Theon along with him. He went straight to the the empty room, the one his seven collared slaves had slept in just last night. Theon dragged his heels a little. 

“Ser,” he tried to say but Roose squeezed him tightly around the arm. 

“Don’t you dare speak,” he warned darkly.

Roose opened the door to the empty room and pushed Theon in. The slave’s face broke like he was about to start crying. His panic set in when he realized Roose was going to leave him in there, and he scrambled to block the closing door. “Ser! Please! He grabbed me! I called your name, and you didn’t hear me and-!” 

Roose quieted the slave with the back of his hand, slapping him hard where he was already covered in bruises. Theon screamed, and stumbled back, clutching his face in pain. He was crying all at once.

“Speak again and I will give you away.” 

The slaved understood immediately that Roose was nowhere near exaggerating. Roose would literally leave the boy by the roadside, were it legal to do so. There were thousands of people down at that convention who’d come for a slave and would jump at the chance to take one home for free. Roose would have no trouble finding some new owner for Theon. 

“You are a disappointment, and you’ve failed me today,” Roose told him. “We will talk about what you did and how you’ll be punished. Until I speak to you first, you’re not to utter a single word. Go sit in the corner and quiet your crying less those in neighboring rooms hear.” 

Theon stumbled back, away from the door, wiping his eye that wasn’t bruised. He was still crying, but he made less noise, and that was how Roose left him. He closed the door on the slave and locked it from the outside. 

Roose returned to the show floor where he explained the necessary details of the situation to Ryswell and Locke. They had heard others talking about Gregor Clegane hauling off and hitting a slave, but neither of them had any clue it was Theon. That was good. That meant hopefully no one else knew it was a Bolton slave involved in the altercation. Theon’s lack of a collar had made him a target, but it was better that he wasn’t wearing the deep red leather associated with Roose’s slaves.

They finished out the rest of the day at the showcase without incident. Roose ran into Loras again, but he was too busy texting to say much of anything. They sold all of their slaves but one, and that was a surprise. Roose thought he would be taking a couple back home with him. The slave who did not sell was one of the more handsome ones he’d brought, but the wants of customers were hard to predict. It was anyone’s guess why he did not peak any interest. The slave was disappointed in himself, but Locke assured him he’d behaved well throughout the day and could not blame himself. 

The showcase had an onsite processing room and more than one processor to help the lines move. Roose saw each of his slaves off one by one. The showcase was open to everyone, of course, so he had to double check credentials to make sure that the men he was selling to were legally allowed to own slaves. They would have to register locally with SPS or else they would face fines and penalties being caught with an unregistered slave, but that was their task to complete, not Roose’s. He got the signatures on the contracts, and he swiped their cards to see the slaves paid, and that was all there was to it on his end. 

Dealing with business helped him forget about Theon and his misbehavior. His disappointment returned to him when he got back to the hotel room. He would have liked to leave the slave in that room all night, alone, to think about what he’d done. It wasn’t recommended that slaves were left alone for more than five hours at a time, so Roose decided to check on him. When he opened the door he found Theon sitting against one of the walls. He wasn’t crying any longer but his eyes were red. He looked up at the door when it opened, but quickly lowered his head again. His bruise had worsened, growing darker in color. It was so ugly. Bruises did not become Theon’s face. 

“Do you need to use the restroom?” Roose asked. 

Theon shook his head.

Roose left him food, and water, and closed the door.

Roose allowed for the slave who hadn’t sold to sleep on the couch. He seemed to think this was an honor, as the cushions were a lot softer than the sleeping pallets. He promised Roose that he could be trusted in the room alone. He wasn’t being locked in so technically he could up and walk out of the hotel in the middle of the night, but Roose doubted that happening. He was a good slave, and loyal. He’d behaved better than Theon had today after all. Being allowed to sleep on the couch wasn’t really an honor, so much as the result of Theon being punished in the other room. 

Roose went to sleep alone. Theon was not there to press up against him, or try to kiss him, or bury his cold nose under Roose’s chin. Roose decided to take the opportunity and enjoy stretching out on the bed and sleeping by himself. It was definitely odd not to have the slave at his side, but he would get used to it. He had to. He turned off the light and closed his eyes and put the day and the madness of the showcase behind him.

The train trip back to Winterfell was a quiet one. They were allowed to sit with the general public as they didn’t have a group of slaves with them. The view was better, and the seats were nicer, but Theon did not rest his head with Roose this time. He sat with his hands in his lap and hid his ugly bruise with his long black hair. He did not so much as look up at the window or the train conductors as they passed by. He did not speak, not one single word, and Roose did not speak to him. He was fed and told when to use the restroom, but otherwise he was ignored. 

The van ride from the Winterfell Kingsroad station to Roose’s training facility was much different than the one they’d taken at the start of their journey. Theon was hooded and forced to sit in the back on the floor of the van. He had not been treated like that since Roose had first bought him. The slave curled in on himself and his body posture showed how hurt he was by this. 

Roose was dropped off directly at his home instead of at the training facility. He told Locke and Ryswell to wait for him, and the van idled as Roose opened the back and pulled Theon out. He marched the slave inside and dehooded him. His black hair was a mess and he looked terrible. Roose took him upstairs, and instead of heading straight into the bedroom like they always did when they took the stairs up… he pulled Theon down the hall. 

They’d never been down the hall before. Not once. Not ever. Sometimes Roose stepped into a room next to his bedroom to grab plugs or other sex toys, but even that was just the room next door and not further down the way. At the end of the hallway he opened up a door to reveal an almost empty room. There was a big window with setting sunlight pouring in. It illuminated the hardwood floor of the room. In one corner there was a cage. It was a small cage, meant to keep a slave sitting or laying down. Theon paled at the sight of it. He did not look well. 

“In,” Roose ordered, pushing him towards the cage. 

Theon did not resist. He went slowly, but he went. He crawled in on his hands and knees and curled in on himself. Roose locked the cage and shut the bedroom door, locking it too. When he was done he left, and went out to join the two trainers in the van to hitch a ride over to the training facility. He’d left Steelshanks in charge. Things had gone smoothly if the emails Roose had received throughout the days he’d been gone meant anything, but still he would like to get back and check in on things himself. 

Roose was actually quite pleased to get back to his office and follow up on things there. He liked what he did, and he was good at it, and helming this training facility genuinely calmed him. Even if he sometimes had to do things he would rather not, like travel or go to showcases and deal with other trainers, it was all worth it for how at home he felt running something. He was almost disappointed to go back home at the end of the night. No. He was disappointed. Because then he would have to face Theon again.

Roose worked later than he knew he ought to, but he had to go back. He checked on the slave but Theon was curled on his side and sleeping soundly. Roose left him food to find when he woke and left him there. He went to sleep in his own bed, and it was empty without Theon but not without its own comforts. 

Even after the long day of travel and work Roose found he could not rest easily. There was something in the back of his mind gnawing at him. It took him quite a while before he recalled that Ramsay was due home any day now. The thought was a sour, sobering one. Roose reminded himself to check the exact date of his son's return tomorrow. Only after this did he manage to drift off to sleep.

In the morning, Roose went to check on the slave before he went to work to see if he needed out to use the restroom. When he opened the door to the room with the cage, Theon was sitting up. He looked worse now than he had yet. The room smelled sour, and there was a messy pile of vomit in the cage with him. 

Theon looked up, and swallowed. “Ser, I don’t feel well.” He whispered in a rough voice.

_I should have given him away after all_ , the thought came. 

Of course Theon was sick. If a busy auction had been enough for him to catch a cold, he stood no chance of dealing with both public transportation and all those people at the showcase without catching something else. Roose was torn with what to do. He wanted to leave Theon sitting in there, wallowing in it, but even he was not so cruel.

Roose went to the window and cracked it open. Fresh air rushed in, eager to clear out the stench. He unlocked the cage and beckoned Theon out. “I’m taking you to my bedroom,” he explained. Roose had no time to clean up bile, he had to get to work. They left the room with the cage in it behind. “If you feel as though you’re going to be sick again you’re allowed to go into the bathroom, otherwise you’re not to leave the bed. Do you understand?”

Theon nodded, unsteady on his feet. He didn’t want to lean on Roose, but he had to. 

“Your punishment isn’t over,” he promised. 

Theon swallowed and nodded. 

“I’ll check on you when I can,” Roose explained. “Behave, Theon. I have lost all my trust in you, but this is your opportunity to turn that around.”

Theon nodded one last time. 

Roose lead him to the bed and he crawled in, curling uncomfortably under the covers. He looked truly unwell. He closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face. Roose thought, not for the first time, how ugly that bruise was. He was glad to close the door and leave Theon there. He would deal with the slave and the vomit in the other room later tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to comment if u like, or [message me on tumblr](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask). dont forget to come back for the next update and find out if theon can earn roose's trust again or not...!!


	21. PART III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the new tags for this chapter will be added with the next update as to avoid spoilers. if you've read this far, i doubt anything in this chapter will turn you off, but just in case you're nervous i'll make a list of the things that will be tagged in the end notes. 
> 
> the last chapter was the end of part two, and this is the start of part three. i mentioned in an earlier author's note that i sort of refer to the parts as part one, where theon's life is sad. part two, where theon's life is less sad. and part three, where everything changes. so. hah. yeah. i hope you guys still like the third half of this fic! 
> 
> thanks as always to my beautiful beta subwaywolf. he is so smart, and so wise, and so incredibly patient with me in all things. i have put him through hell and back asking him to edit this fic, and i know i have. i am so thankful for him and how much he's put up with! i'm also thankful for all his hard work and care. he didn't have to beta any of this, but he did anyway because he's a stand-up guy and for that i'm grateful. :)

“There’s a slave on the bed,” Damon said, stepping away from the bedroom doorway and jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

Ramsay was trudging solemnly up the stairs, and he dumped his duffle bag on a step in order to make his way faster. “What?”

Damon turned around, peering into Roose’s bedroom again. “I… …he’s sleeping…?”

Ramsay came right up next to him, and together they peered into the bedroom from the doorway. Standing next to each other they were perfect opposites. Where Ramsay was short and thick Damon was tall and thin with the body of a swimmer. Damon’s hair was short and wavy, blonde most of the time except for in the sunlight where it resembled something more like gingerbread. Ramsay’s hair was straight and black as black could be. Even their faces were different. Damon was often called handsome, but Ramsay… well, Ramsay looked mean.

Roose’s bed was always neat and squared away. It was so odd to see the bedspread a mess and to find a slave sleeping there. Rarely did he ever bring slaves from the training facility home. Only if they needed extra attention or personal training. Even then, they were not usually invited to sit on Roose’s bed or sleep on it when he wasn’t there. This was some odd type of Goldilocks shit that Damon just wasn’t down with.

“It’s sweaty,” Ramsay noticed.

“And bruised,” Damon said.

They turned to look at each other. Damon had soft blue eyes, though his right eye had a quarter of green in it. His eyes found Ramsay’s pale white ones, and they both stared at one another as if either had an answer to all this. 

“Go wake him up,” he dared Ramsay.

Ramsay sneered at him. “ _You_ go wake him up.”

They turned to look at the slave again. Their voices had yet to stir him, and Ramsay had slammed the door so hard the windows had rattled when he’d come in. That had been just a few moments ago, and that hadn’t woken sleeping beauty here either. Maybe there was something wrong with him. There had to be something wrong with him. He had to be sick, or fucked up, or wrong, or something.

“Did your dad get a personal slave?” Damon asked, the question popping into his mind suddenly. It would… sort of make sense. Still didn’t account for why he’d left him alone. “Or is this his boyfriend or something?” He asked next, because he couldn’t see a collar or anything so …maybe it wasn’t a slave at all?

“The fuck would my dad be doing with a boyfriend?” Ramsay disliked either option, it was clear, but that one really seemed to offend him.

“Aw, maybe ol’ Roose got lonely after we left,” Damon smiled. That was almost a sweet notion. They’d only been gone a few months. Well, six months; half a year. That gave Roose plenty of time to miss them so much he’d caved and bought himself a friend. A cute companion maybe, or an actual sex slave of his own to have fun with. Or maybe he’d met someone. Like, met someone met someone 

The thought of Roose actually missing Ramsay was hard to conjure up, and Damon felt guilty for realizing this. Even if it was true, he knew that was a sore spot for Ramsay. He wouldn’t have said it out loud, so he shouldn’t be thinking it either.

“Do you think it’s his sex slave? If it is, I’m going to fuck it,” Ramsay decided, suddenly pushing passed Damon and into Roose’s bedroom. Oh, he had his shoes on. Roose wouldn’t like anyone walking into his bedroom with their shoes on. Damon almost reached out to stop him, but this was Ramsay, so what was the point?

“Don’t tell me you’re serious,” Damon sounded appalled. 

Roose would be furious. That had never stopped Ramsay from doing anything before, though. All his efforts to impress his dad were always squandered by the fact that he did what he wanted, whenever he wanted to. Usually what he wanted to do was violent and upsetting. Most of the time Damon didn’t mind, but sometimes there were some ideas that were just downright bad.

“Sure, why not?” Ramsay shrugged. “It’s been a week since I last got laid. Besides, what’s Roose’s is mine and what’s mine is still mine.” He laughed and walked right up to the bed, stripping back the duvet. He revealed a fully naked body. Whoever this guy was, slave or boyfriend, he was slick with sweat and immediately he started to shiver. Damon watched him turn over, trying to find warmth, and they both got a better view of his bare behind.

“What if he’s ill or something? You’re going to catch an STI,” Damon tried to reason. Ramsay was impossible to argue with, though; he wasn’t even listening. Damon asked himself why he bothered.

“Hey,” Ramsay gave the slave a nudge. “Hey, fuckboy. Wake up.”

A groggy voice came from the bed. “Ser?” Definitely not a boyfriend, then. The poor slave sounded so confused, Damon almost felt sorry for him. The slave shivered again, and tried to turn on his back, but Ramsay planted a hand at the base of his spine to keep him pinned. 

“That’s right, slave. I’m your _ser_ now,” Ramsay agreed.

The panic that gripped the slave was so sudden Damon could almost taste it in the air. 

“Please, please, please,” he started to struggle immediately, and Ramsay fought to grab his wrists and pin them down. He was weak and exhausted. His struggles barely got him anywhere. “Please, please. Where’s Roose?”

“What are you doing in my father’s bed?” Ramsay demanded. “Does he know you’re here, huh?”

“Is this because I was bad?” the slave asked, sounding weak and scared.

Ramsay laughed, but Damon felt bad for him.

“You guessed it,” Ramsay insisted. “We’re here because you’ve been bad. We’re going to punish you.”

“You can do whatever you want. I’m not getting involved in this.” Damon held up his hands and walked away. When Roose found his pet slave just-fucked, Damon wanted to be nowhere near that crime scene. Ramsay had to know he was making a mistake, and if he wanted to go ahead and fuck things up on his very first day back, then Damon would let him.

“What are you going to do to me?” Damon heard the slave ask.

He heard the soft meaty sound of Ramsay hitting him then too, and the low noise of pain that came after. Ramsay didn’t hit with an open palm the way Roose did, he hit with his fists. If Damon knew him well enough, he’d probably nailed the poor slave in the back of the head.

“Did my father train you to ask questions?” Ramsay asked, but Damon was halfway down the hall and the voice was trailing away. 

He reached the end of the hall and found the second staircase going up to the third floor. The steps were all dusty. Roose was always so adamant about keeping his house clean, he must have been busy recently otherwise he never would have tolerated this. Damon went up the steps, realizing just how much he appreciated being back here. His happiness to be home was only slightly hindered by the horrible sounds of pain coming from Roose’s bedroom. Damon ignored it. 

All the doors on the third floor were closed, but that wasn’t so unusual. He got to the second one on the right and tried the handle. For a moment he was afraid it would be locked, but when he opened the door he found everything they way they’d left it.

He didn’t have much stuff, but Ramsay did and it was in cluttered boxes on the floor. Sitting on top of a box nearest the door, Damon’s whip was waiting. His. It was his. He didn’t have to sign this one out for practice every day like he’d done at certification training, he owned this one. That was the promise Roose had made him. If he got his certification in discipline, he could have his very own whip. 

It was a sleek black bullwhip from Roose’s personal collection. Roose had promised he would hand over if Damon upholded his end of the bargain and here he was, six months later and fully certified. Roose had given him the whip the day before he left; a promise to come back to. Damon was allowed to take it and put it with his other personal items, but it hadn’t really been his then. It was his now, though, and even though it was dusty and needed an oiling, it felt so right in his hands.

Fuck, Damon was proud of himself.

He set the whip back down on the box and lifted the whole box up. They’d only stopped off here to grab their things and get going. That was before Ramsay had found a slave to torture, now they might be here all day. Hopefully not. They were supposed to move into their new apartment today. Damon had had cells of his own, and Roose had given him a bedroom of his own, and they’d given him a dorm to share during certification training, but he’d never had an apartment of his own. He was actually excited to move in.

Taking his stuff with him, Damon went back down the stairs he’d come from. He walked down the hall, walking past Roose’s bedroom. He blocked out the muffled cries and heavy grunting he heard and hurried down to the first floor. Damon left his stuff by the front door and went to the kitchen. If Ramsay was going to take his sweet time, Damon would raid the fridge. 

He didn’t find anything in the fridge he liked. Roose always did keep it a little bare, so he tried the pantry instead. There was a tin of cookies, but when Damon opened it and bit into one they were stale and old so he put it back. In the freezer he found a tub of water ice. It was orangey-pink in color and it took Damon half the tub for him to decipher that it was passion fruit flavor. He sat on the counter and bounced his heels against the cabinets and pretended he didn’t hear the slave screaming upstairs as Ramsay fucked him.

Damon put the carton back in the freezer eventually. He stared out the window for a while, and then went to grab his whip. He unfurled it and gave it a few snaps in the long open hallway. Things were quieting upstairs. He coiled it again and slung it over his shoulder. He was wandering back towards the foyer to drop it off on his box when the front door opened.

Damon’s heart leapt up and flopped around in his chest as he saw Roose again for the first time in six months. He was still in awe of the power of this man; he had thought that some time apart would quell his fascination but he was wrong. Roose looked as dangerous as the day Damon had left, and not a day older.

He didn’t even seem surprised to see Damon in his house, he just lifted his chin and gave Damon a knowing but deeply cold stare.

“Damon,” he said softly in a strong, solemn tone.

Damon couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Roose.”

“Welcome back,” Roose greeted him kindly. “Is it a slave I’m greeting, or a certified disciplinarian?”

Damon’s smile turned into a grin and he wished he could help himself but he just fucking couldn’t. “Fully certified.” He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and showed Roose his credentials. It wasn’t like trainers where they got a certificate meant to be hung on the wall in a fancy frame, it was just a card like a social security card but Damon had earned it all on his own and he was so proud of himself and he was proud to show Roose and he knew that Roose was proud of him too.

Roose took the wallet from Damon’s hands and looked thoughtfully at the card for a moment before handing it back. He offered his hand out and Damon shook it. 

“Fuck, ser. Thank you.”

“Careful with your profanity,” Roose warned him.

There was a noise upstairs and Roose lifted his eyes to glance upward. “Ramsay’s home as well, I take it?” He asked, and the tone in his voice went from just the barest hint of pleasure to none at all.

Damon panicked for a moment. He’d spent so long covering for Ramsay during certification training that it was instinct to do it now too. “I… I wouldn’t, ser,” he cautioned. “It’s… he got a load of your slave upstairs and got some wild notion about helping you punish him… I…”

Roose closed his eyes softly and he took a slow breath before opening them again. “Thank you, Damon.” He swept through the foyer, through the hall, towards the staircase and up the stairs.

Damon hesitated where he was at the front door. If he was smart he would have just grabbed his things, picked up the car keys, and taken off. He’d watched Ramsay push Roose’s buttons enough in the past to know how this was going to turn out. He should just walk away before it got ugly, but some sick fascination lead him down the hall. He stood at the bottom of the staircase and looked up. He could just barely see the open bedroom door, and he could sort of see Roose’s figure standing in the doorway. The two of them, Ramsay and Roose, were already speaking in low tones but it was hard to hear them over the soft sobbing of the slave upstairs.

“That’s all you have to say to me?” Ramsay’s voice rose suddenly.

Roose’s voice was so soft, Damon could not hear the reply.

“…You know what your slave said to me? It said it hit a trainer in the face. And you’ve allowed for this to happen? It’s in here sleeping in your bed, father. After he’s done something like that?” Ramsay sounded so appalled voice raising louder in anger.

Damon hadn’t heard the slave say that, but then again he’d blocked out a lot of the sounds coming from that bedroom. He was so practiced at ignoring some of the things Ramsay did sometimes it worried him how good he was at it.

Roose spoke again but his voice was so soft and low and Damon couldn’t hear anything. He crept up onto the first step of the staircase with uncertainty, and then another, inching up the stairs one at a time until he was close enough to hear a little better.

“What?” Ramsay was speaking again, suddenly sounding uncertain.

“If you think you can train him better than I can, take him.” Roose seemed to be reiterating. “You’ve already soiled him, I don’t care to have him now.”

“No, please,” the slave begged. Damon could just barely see the back of Roose’s body in the doorway, and suddenly his waist was being clutched at desperately. “Please, ser. Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll be good. Don’t give me away. I’m sorry.”

Damon heard the sound of the slave being hit again, a gross meat crashing into meat noise that was followed by a pathetic yelp of pain. “I’ll have him more obedient in six weeks than you’ve made him in six months,” Ramsay assured.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this, Theon.” Roose was saying softly as he extrapolated himself from the slave’s grasp. “This isn’t entirely your fault.”

Roose stepped out of the way. The slave sobbed, and Damon got a glimpse of his face; bruised and red and wet with tears. Ramsay snatched up the slave’s hair and yanked him along by it. He was all set to barge out the door when Roose caught his son by the shoulder. “Ramsay,” he said in a low warning tone. “Train him, don’t break him. Don’t hit another slave the way you just hit this one or SPS will descend upon us like vultures.”

“I know what I’m doing, father,” Ramsay said back, an equal sort of warning in his tone. “I am certified now, not that you’ve cared to mention it.”

“Are you?” Roose was almost sarcastic. “Good. You start work tomorrow. Tell Damon I said the same for him.”

“Please,” the slave gave one last feeble effort to beg. Ramsay yanked it’s hair and pulled, hurrying out the bedroom doorway.

Ramsay caught sight of Damon there on the stairs listening in. Damon hurried up a few more steps and grabbed the dufflebag where it was sitting there. “I’ve got this. Grab your stuff and meet me out to the car, then?” He said, pretending as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

“Good.” Ramsay gave the slave a shove and he went stumbling down the stairs, nearly tumbling. He rolled his ankle and caught himself on the railing. “Take this with you.”

Damon didn’t like this, but he reached out to help the now limping slave down the stairway. He heard the sounds of Ramsay trampling up to the third floor to grab his things. Damon looked to the bedroom doorway just once more, trying to find Roose. Roose was standing there stiffly, staring ahead of him with a severe look on his face. Damon had never really gotten quite good at reading Roose’s expression. If he had to guess what he was seeing on the man’s face now, he might have guessed anger, or disappointment. Then again, he may just be guessing that from context clues; that face could mean anything.

The slave was starting to sob quite hysterically. Damon hurried to help him down to the first floor. “Don’t cry,” Damon consoled him, wrapping an arm around the slave’s waist. “Ramsay might get annoyed. Don’t cry.” Without intending to, his consolation became a warning.

Damon had to pick up his box at the front, and since his hands were full he couldn’t help the slave the rest of the way out to the car. He seemed to hobble along by himself just fine. Tears were still streaming down his face and his chin was quivering, but he was doing his best to keep his hysterics to himself. Damon put his things into the trunk of the car, and he helped the slave into the back seat. He winced as he sat. Damon himself slid into the passenger side. They sat there for a long time as they waited for Ramsay. Damon quietly listened to the slave’s sniffling.

One by one, Ramsay loaded the trunk up with boxes. The slave had to share the back seat with a few boxes as well, but eventually they were ready to go.

“Don’t fuck it,” Ramsay mimicked smugly as he hopped into the driver’s side and started the car. “It’s ill.”

“I think he is ill,” Damon said, glancing into the rear-view mirror.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s mine now. I’ve got my very own slave and I didn’t even have to pay for it.” Ramsay pulled out of the long drive, grinning cruelly.

“We’re all very glad you didn’t listen to my advice,” Damon conceded. He was trying to sound playful, but he didn’t feel very playful. He felt bad. Whatever happened in there probably shouldn’t have. It felt like they’d snatched Roose’s personal slave right out from under him. Damon couldn’t even blame him, though. He wouldn’t want to fuck a slave that had been torn up by Ramsay. Not to mention the fact that the slave did seem pretty disobedient. He talked out of turn and if it was true he’d actually hit a trainer, he was lucky he hadn’t been put down.

“I’m glad.” Ramsay laughed, pulling out onto the main road.

As soon as they started to speed up the unmistakable noises of dry heaving came from the backseat. Damon hunched, horrified, and turned to look over his shoulder just in time to see the slave spew vomit all over the back of the driver’s seat.

Ramsay nearly slammed on the breaks.

“…Still glad?” Damon couldn’t help asking. “I fucking told you he was ill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things that will be tagged next time thati didn't tag today bc of spoilers: one new pairing, theon greyjoy / ramsay bolton, one new character, ramsay bolton. a few new tags, vomit, hitting, and begging. 
> 
> thanks for reading everyone. come back next week to see if roose really really gave theon away or not!! feel free to leave comments or talk to me about the #ThrooseSlavefic [on tumblr](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask). thanks :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for their concern about theon! hopefully this update isn't a disappointment. i'm worried that the passage of time may not be clear throughout but months have passed by the end of the chapter if that helps anyone! no new tags, and the tags from last weeks update have now been included!
> 
> and thanks as always to my beautiful beta subwaywolf ! he is so smart and so helpful and i appreciate everything he's ever taught me or done for me. i wouldn't be the same writer if it wasn't for him, and my fanfiction certainly wouldn't be half as good. i am so grateful and thankful that he's helped me make this fic perfect!

Roose went back to work and he got everything done that afternoon that he needed to get done. He even got all the paperwork together needed for a new trainer and a new disciplinarian. He was so sure that Ramsay and Damon wouldn’t be back for another few weeks, or he would have gotten the paperwork completed sooner.

When he came home, he scrubbed vomit from the cage and the hardwood floors of the spare room he’d been punishing Theon in. He changed the sheets on the bed, making note of where the stains were so he could inform the cleaners. There was some blood though, and blood was always hard to contend with. Roose would not blame them if they couldn’t get it out. He made dinner for himself and ate it. He found spare dressings for the bed, some old pink sheets, and they suited just fine.

After he laid down for the night he couldn’t help thinking about the blood, and he felt uncertain for a moment. Theon did not deserve Ramsay. He had not been so bad as that. It was too late to change things now, though. It had already been decided.

Theon had never fully learned to behave, and he’d never earned his collar. He was a good fuck, and a good enough slave, but that did not make him worth keeping unconditionally. Roose had told Theon time and time again if he could not behave he would be given away or sold. The slave had been a sobbing mess, speaking entirely out of turn, crying and pleading unbecomingly when Roose had found him. Maybe if he had been better poised Roose would have thought twice about getting rid of him. Maybe.

Maybe not. Roose wasn’t interested in something his son had also fucked.

Ramsay was an ill fate, but if Theon had been cleaned up and sold at an auction there was a chance he could end up with someone equally as abusive. SPS tried to prevent this from happening, but it still happened. Roose would still get to see Theon every so often this way. Besides, the slave was a cockslut and often horny. He would get along with Ramsay in this way. Roose had grown fond of the slave; perhaps Ramsay would too. It was hard to decipher whether that meant Theon would get less beatings or more, and Roose decided he didn’t want to figure it out. He turned out the light and went to sleep. This was not worth wasting his time thinking about.

There was a certain melancholy the next morning when he woke up without Theon beside him. The day before Roose had not felt it because he knew the slave was just down the hall. There was still hope that after he was finished with his punishment, things would go back to their normal routine. Now, that hope was not there. Theon was gone for good, and Roose would have to readjust to life without him. He had gone an awfully long time without having a personal slave, and Roose could just as easily return to that lifestyle.

In the weeks after ridding himself of Theon, Roose put all his effort into his work. He stayed later and took on more tasks. The training facility ran best when he was heading it, and although it felt somewhat hollow to pour all his energy into his business again he soldiered on. Going home was a little more boring than it had been previously, but now Roose had a chance to catch up on reading and to get some cleaning done. That’s what he told himself he would do. Most nights he came home and just continued working from his laptop.

Roose thought that Ramsay would be a burden now that he was back, but the boy was behaving himself. It helped that he was staying in an apartment suite with the rest of the trainers instead of within Roose’s home with him. He and Ramsay never quite did get along after Domeric’s death. They had often butted heads. One would think that a house as big as Roose’s would be big enough for the both of them, but it hadn’t been.

Roose was so sure Ramsay would come back and bull his way through the slaves at the facility the way he had in the past. Ramsay always did have a hard time understanding subtlety. It seemed that his education in training had done him some good. He was still heavy handed with punishments, but he was not overtly cruel. Roose gave him a batch of new slaves to start training, and Ramsay did his job without flaw.

Ramsay was not happy just training slaves though. He wanted to sell them and show them and buy them. Every day he came to Roose and demanded a chance to prove himself at an auction or a showcase. He was light-footed about asking to go to kennels and buy raw slaves, but it was clear he wanted to do that, too.

“An auction,” Ramsay said, for what had to be the third time that day. “There’s one out near Karhold this weekend we’re scheduled to attend. I know you hate going. Let me go instead.” He had been working Roose over, determined to go to this specific auction. He’d brought it up again and again and again since he’d been back. Now that it was nearing the auction date, Ramsay was more desperate than ever.

Ramsay had the tendency to come into Roose’s office and make himself comfortable in one of the red leather chairs there. Roose disliked that. He glanced away from his computer screen long enough to look at his son. Roose was struck with the thought that Ramsay looked so utterly unlike his brother in that moment.

Oh, how different things would be if Domeric were here in Ramsay’s stead. Domeric would be a man grown by now. He would be buying and selling and showing with confidence and pride. Roose would be able to trust him to do those things without fear of how badly things would end up. Roose tried not to linger on the thought because it felt quite like someone was twisting a knife in his gut.

In all the time he’d had Theon with him, Roose had not thought about Domeric once. Not unless someone else brought him up. This realization twisted the non-existent knife deeper.

“Ramsay…” Where was Theon now? Roose wondered suddenly. Ramsay never brought him in to work. Did he cage the slave when he left him at home? Was Theon allowed free reign of Ramsay and Damon’s shared apartment?

Ramsay sat forward on the edge of the armchair, eyebrows raised in expectation. “…Father?”

Roose frowned softly. The longer Ramsay sat here in front of him, the more things he did not want to think about would keep cropping up in his mind. “Fine.” Roose allowed, a swift change in how these conversations had gone in the past. “Take Locke with you. Report back to me when it’s over.”

Ramsay was so surprised to have gotten what he wanted he practically leapt from the chair in victory.

“Ramsay.” Roose’s voice dipped low in warning. “Disappoint me and you won’t be leaving this training facility to represent me ever again.”

That was all Ramsay needed to hear to motivate him. He went to the auction in Roose’s stead that very weekend… and he actually pulled through. Roose was expecting the worst, but that wasn’t the case. Ramsay came back with signed contracts for all thirteen slaves that had gone up on the auction block and his own version of the events. Locke retold the story later, when he and Roose were alone. Ramsay had been rather poor at making conversation with other trainers but other than that Locke assured Roose things had gone perfectly fine. Ramsay had not lashed out at any of the slaves and he had lead with great confidence.

Roose was willing to let Ramsay go to more auctions after that. Auctions only came once a month though; two if it was a busy month. The real thing that kept Roose busy was not auctions, but buying slaves from kennels. There was no mistaking how badly Ramsay wanted to do that too, but even in his desperation he only dropped hints. He knew Roose would never allow him to buy slaves, not that that stopped him from pining for it.

First it was the auction at Karhold. Then there was one at Deepwood Motte. Then one at Widow’s Watch. Roose was actually planning on letting Ramsay take seven slaves down to an all-vocation auction at The Twins too.

Roose thought he would be kept busy with these types of things, but he ended up handing a lot of work over to Ramsay. Before he knew it, three months had passed and he’d done nothing but buy slaves and work showcases. Ramsay was as insistent about showcases as he had been about auctions, and he’d even accompanied Roose to a few of those, too. Ramsay went instead of Ryswell and he did a fine job.

Like all other things, Roose had thought that bringing Ramsay to showcases would go poorly, but Ramsay surprised him again. He did not get along with other trainers, and in the privacy of hotel rooms and while they were traveling in vans he had a tendency to let out long rants about which trainers he disliked. Roose didn’t care for such complaining and often told Ramsay this, but Ramsay never quite learned to keep it to himself.

Every time Roose went away with Ramsay for a showcase he could not help thinking about Theon. A showcase had been Theon’s undoing so it was natural that he would come to mind. It was not the showcase at Moat Cailin that he thought about, though. Instead Roose wondered who took care of the slave when Ramsay was gone.

Against his better judgment, he asked one day. Roose, Ramsay, and Locke had traveled to Bear Island for a luxurious (and incredibly cold) showcase that many trainers were using as an excuse to take a vacation. While other trainers told Roose of their plans to go sightseeing and whale-watching, Roose planned to go home after the showcase was over.

He had been sitting on the couch in the hotel room after a long night of bathing and grooming slaves. Ramsay was across from him texting away on his phone.

“What do you do with him when you leave?” Roose asked softly, keeping all curiosity out of his tone.

Ramsay looked up, a scowl of an expression on his face. “…What?”

“Theon. What do you do with him when you leave?” Roose reiterated.

There was a very long moment in which Ramsay’s scowl deepened, completely and utterly confused as to what on earth his father was talking about. “…wh… oh. That slave you gave me? Damon looks after him.” He said and shrugged, turning back into his phone as if it were nothing.

“Is he all trained then?” Roose asked, remembering the words Ramsay had said to him the day he’d given Theon away. It didn’t feel so long ago, but it had been quite a while.

Ramsay made a noise. “Mf. No. He’s a sack of shit, that one. Can’t give head to save his fucking life. I can see why you gave him away.” He got up and left then, going to his room for the night, wishing his father sweet dreams.

Roose disliked the thought of Theon on his knees for Ramsay.

As much as Roose wished he could simply forget about Theon entirely, it was harder than he thought it would be. Some days that melancholy feeling of being without a body to curl up with was overwhelming. Roose refused to admit that it was loss he was feeling. He simply did not allow himself to miss the slave. The melancholy would leave eventually. Roose told himself that again and again. All he had to do was wait it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to leave a comment, [hit me up on tumblr](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask), or plow on through to the next chapter bc i'm posting two in one night! woweeeee!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i'm posting two chapters in one night bcos i'm a wild woman! also because the last chapter was short. no new tags again, though if you see something that you think should be tagged lmk. i'm contemplating tagging minor character death because domeric's death is mentioned a lot, but none of the minor characters actually die? hm. not sure. we'll see! in the mean time enjoy this update!!
> 
> thanks of course to subwaywolf, the king of love and beauty. i would start a war that would rival robert's rebellion for this kind wolf. of course our relationship is less like lyanna and rhaegar and more like damon and roose. if damon was a really good beta reader and roose had terrible grammar. ah what a world asoiaf would be. anyway, thank you for all your hard work subwaywolf. consider this thank you a virtual rose crown you can wear and cherish forever.

Roose would be lying if he said he trusted all of this completely. As much as he was enjoying Ramsay’s ability to train slaves, sell them at auctions, and represent Roose at showcases, it couldn’t all be this easy. There had to be something more going on. He knew his son. He knew Ramsay was ornery and foul-tempered. The fact that there hadn’t been any incidents since he’d come back from certification training was curious at best.

Roose didn’t want to go behind his sons back to find out the truth, but he did it anyway. He had Locke tailing Ramsay, watching him like a hawk. While he’d owned the slave Theon had captured so much of Roose’s attention that he had spent little time with his most trusted trainer, but it was good to get back into the swing of things with Ondrew. 

Every day Locke came to him with a report of the day’s events. Sometimes he would have a story to tell, and sometimes he wouldn’t. One day he caught Ramsay punching a slave in the eye. Another day he found Ramsay fingering a slave. Sometimes he was too rough with the slaves. Often he left bruises. These were not the types of things Roose was looking for, though. This was almost to be expected.

Ramsay was such a dark, cruel human being. Roose was said to be cruel in his own right but he had standards; Ramsay did not. Years of taking his cruelty out on others did not vanish in six months. Although he was certainly being unkind, it was clear he was not being especially cruel to the slaves at the training facility, so Roose turned to Damon for help instead.

Roose called Damon into his office one afternoon.

A long long time ago, Damon had stood before him with his arms behind his back, stark naked and headstrong. He had been a feisty raw slave. Roose remembered him fondly. Damon had been stupid enough to challenge Roose. He swore he could crack a whip better than any of Roose’s trainers. It just so happened that Damon had been right. He was lucky. If he’d been wrong, he’d be some rich owner’s fuck toy instead of the disciplinarian Roose saw before him today.

Technically, Damon wasn’t free yet, he was still working off what he owed Roose. Damon had been costly to procure and costly to train. Since Roose wasn’t going to sell him, he needed to earn back those costs somehow. Damon was paying Roose in work. He did not earn wages; the salary he would have earned all went back to Roose instead. A few years here at the training facility working as a disciplinarian and he would be free. Truly free. Roose expected Damon would stay with him even after he was no longer indebted to, and he liked that thought. He really was proud of Damon, and enjoyed having him on the staff. 

Roose could have used Damon’s debt against him, but he didn’t.

“What’s Ramsay doing?” Roose asked calmly instead of making any unseemly blackmail type threats.

Damon seemed confused for a moment. “What do you mean what’s he doing? Right now? Probably still on the clock…”

Roose gave Damon a look. That wasn’t what he meant, and Damon knew it.

Tough as he was, and he had to be tough to have made it this far in life, Damon was still weak when it came to being on the receiving end of Roose’s harsher stares. He let out a long breath after a moment and nervously ran his fingers through his soft blonde hair.

“…I have to live with him, Roose,” he muttered. “I have to go home to him. If I tell you something, he’ll know.”

So there was something to tell, then. “Let him know that I asked,” Roose decided. “Tell him the truth. Tell him you told me nothing.”

Damon scrubbed his face with his hands, groaning. “I didn’t sign up for any double-agent bullshit.”

“Profanity,” Roose warned.

Damon gave him the nod, practically muttering yeah yeah as he turned to walk out.

“Damon,” Roose stopped him. “If something big happens, you’ll tell me.” He gave Damon a look of expectation.

Damon paused and stood where he was for a long time. Eventually he sighed and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll tell you.” He left with a heavier burden on his shoulders than when he’d come in.

There was a thought that lurked in the back of his mind that Roose refused to admit was there. It was a logical and reasonable explanation, but he absolutely would not entertain it. He didn’t want to think it consciously, but as he watched Damon walk out the thought surfaced and reared its ugly head. What if Ramsay was being unnecessarily cruel to Theon instead of the slaves at the training facility?

Roose expected that Theon was being fucked harshly, re-trained strictly, and hit often. Hopefully that was all there was to it. Hopefully.

Roose could not ask Damon about this, though. He did not want to bring it up to Locke either. Locke lived in the same apartment complex as the rest of the trainers. It was possible that he might have seen Ramsay coming and going. In that case he might have seen Theon coming and going with him as well. He had never mentioned anything before. If there was anything to mention, Roose would have heard about it and Roose held on to that.

If Roose did ask Locke about Theon, it would be clear as to how fond Roose had been of the slave. That would not do. Roose Bolton was not fond of slaves. He trained them. He was professional with them. He did not care for them. He had enjoyed his personal slave while he’d had him but now Theon was gone and that was the end of it. What would it look like if Roose was still dwelling on him, wasting time thinking about him? He couldn’t ask Locke. He couldn’t ask Damon either.

There were other explanations for Ramsay’s behavior; there had to be. Roose had to focus on that instead. Though he was not comfortable enough confiding his curiosities about Theon, he still used Locke as a sounding board for other thoughts and some of his less revealing concerns. They met every night to discuss Ramsay’s behavior, so the very same night that Roose had spoken to Damon he recounted the conversation to Ondrew.

“You know what this means,” Locke said, leaning back in the leather chair with a knowing look on his face.

Roose stared blankly at him.

“You have to hand the training facility over to Ramsay and see if he crashes it into the ground or not.”

Roose was so startled by that answer that he wondered for a second if Locke was completely fucking with him. Was Ondrew on Ramsay’s side now? Had something happened between them, some agreement? Roose must have looked confused because Locke laughed softly at him.

“Not _hand it over_. Just. For a week.” He clarified. “If he loses his wits and fucks it all up, we’ll know he hasn’t really changed. If he keeps it together, we’ll know he has.”

A week. Just a week. It wasn’t a bad plan, honestly. It wasn’t a great plan, but it certainly wasn’t a bad one. A week was just long enough to show Ramsay he was serious about trusting him with the place. A week was just short enough that Ramsay couldn’t possibly fuck anything up to the point of fixing it again. The stress of being in charge of this place would either cause Ramsay to crack or provide triumph. Locke would be here to make sure the facility didn’t actually burn down. Could it work? Could it actually go so wrong?

Roose tried to recall if there were any places he’d ever wanted to visit. A nice vacation he could take. He would be so bored without working for a week.

He decided to take the risk on this one without spending too much time thinking it through. It was a risk. It was probably one of the biggest risks he was like to take. He did not ask himself ‘what’s the worst that could go wrong’, because the answer would dissuade him. Roose had to know, though. He had to know what would happen. The possibility of this going well was actually there. He might even come through the other side of this little experiment with someone to pass his training facility on to. Ramsay was not his first choice, but after this week… who knows. That could change.

“Bring him in, then,” Roose conceded. 

Locke left and returned a few minutes later with Ramsay tow. He was gone long enough to give Roose plenty of second thoughts, but he went ahead with it anyway.

“I’m leaving for a week,” Roose said, getting directly to the point.

Ramsay was thrown by that. “…Are you dying? Going to the hospital for a week or something? What is this?” he sounded happier than he should for someone who assumed his father was dying.

Roose stared at him for a long moment. “You will be in charge while I’m gone. Defer to Locke should you need anything. Email me updates every day. I don’t trust you, Ramsay. Prove me wrong.”

That was how Roose left it. He didn’t allow Ramsay to ask any other questions, because he knew he it would only lead to second guessing and Roose really wasn’t a man of second guesses. He had Locke escort Ramsay out, and he nodded good bye to the both of them. Roose fought the urge to send out some mass message to his employees informing them that everything could fall to shambles tomorrow. He sat at his desk for a long time thinking carefully about what he’d just committed himself to before he stood and left.

There was no use dwelling. This would be revealing. Good or bad, he would know more by the end of the week than he did now.

That began, quite possibly, the longest week of Roose’s life.

When Domeric had died there was a week before the funeral where his body was tucked away in a morgue somewhere, and then embalmed and left on a metal slab over night with nothing but a sheet to cover him. Roose did not know this for a fact, but he’d spent that week lying in bed imagining the dire situations his son’s body was in. That had been a very long week. The funeral itself had not helped quell anything, and the week after Domeric was laid to rest had been very long in its own right.

Those weeks had been somber and empty and the shock of what had happened had not quite set in. This was different. Roose did not feel somber, but instead almost… apprehensive. Even when he managed to push the idea of Ramsay running his training facility to the back of his mind, he had an uneasy feeling that kept him from fully relaxing and enjoying himself. Sometimes, for a flash of a second, he would even forget why he was not comfortable in his own home. Then he remembered. Mere miles from him a catastrophe could be taking place.

Very briefly, Roose considered taking off. He thought of driving out to the Kingsroad station in Winterfell and hopping on the first train he found. He was not eager to leave the north, but at least a change of scenery would help distract him. He even thought about driving out to the Redfort or Barrowton to visit old friends. He didn’t end up doing any of that at all. If he wasn’t comfortable at home, he certainly wouldn’t be comfortable anywhere else. Besides, it seemed like an unnecessary waste of money to travel.

Roose did everything to try and make the days go faster. He slept late, took long showers, and hand-cooked every meal. He even drove into town and picked out groceries himself. He had not gone to a grocery store in years. Things hadn’t changed much.

Though he did spend most of his time completely attached to his work, Roose did get around to doing the other things he always said he would do. Between looking up more showcases and new kennels in the area and looking at pages and pages of raw slave listings online, he actually got some cleaning done. He read a few short books, too, and he didn’t feel too bad about reading them because they regarded things like the mental state of slaves and how best to help them learn to submit.

Roose finally threw out Theon’s toothbrush and comb as well. They only took up a tiny bit of counter space, but that was counter space he could be better using to make his bathroom look pristine. He felt oddly sad letting go of the two small items, and he attributed it to his worries about Ramsay running the training facility and nothing more.

Roose learned how many times a day he could refresh his email before he thought he would go mad. When he left Ryswell in charge the old man gave him constant and sporadic emails throughout the day. Sometimes they were important updates and sometimes it was just a friendly message informing Roose that everything was doing fine. Steelshanks was similar in update etiquette though he typed in choppy sentences and the details of situations often needed clarifying through multiple emails. Locke sent emails almost every other hour, perfectly timed, always relevant and well written.

Ramsay sent emails in all caps at the end of the day, vaguely describing any small problems that had come up and glazing over what he’d done to correct the issue. It was genuinely maddening. Roose took to corresponding with Locke instead, who was too busy with a handful of slaves he was training to keep close tabs on Ramsay.

Apparently Ramsay had taken to running things from behind Roose’s desk, literally sitting in his father’s chair. Roose didn’t care for that. He would have been much happier if Locke had never deigned to inform him. There were usual incidents, nothing too out of the ordinary. There were always one or two minor slave injuries or a new slave with a behavioral problem who needed harsher punishment or a new trainer. It seemed that Ramsay was handling these things with skill and grace. If anything was going wrong, Roose was not hearing about it.

The training facility really was only a five minute drive away. Theoretically, Roose could hop in his car at any moment and head over. He could stop by, check in on things, and get some peace of mind. Somehow that felt like the wrong thing to do. This whole experiment hinged on his absence. It was hard to abstain from driving over, but he did. He busied himself with being incredibly bored instead, just as he knew he would be.

Roose found that free from distraction he thought of both Domeric and Theon equally. Both of them were hollow memories. They were two figures that were gone from his life, having left under circumstances he wished could have been otherwise. If it was up to him, they would both still be here. Domeric was less painful to think about, but only just so. He had been Roose’s flesh and blood, his own son. He had been so smart with so much potential. It was unfair that he’d been taken so early, but Roose had made his peace with that. Now he needed to make peace with the fact that Theon was gone from his life too.

Roose reminded himself over and over that this was what he wanted. He did not want a slave ugly with bruises on his face. He did not want a slave who was disobedient. He did not want a slave that his son had fucked. No matter how much he told himself he did not want Theon any more, a small voice in the back of his head insisted he did. He may not want the disobedient slave who’d hit Gregor Clegane, or the sickly slave who’d puked up vomit in his cage, or the used slave who’d felt Ramsay’s cock and come inside of him. Roose did want the slave with the long black hair who blushed in his ears and in his chest. He wanted the slave who clung to him in the shower and nuzzled up to him at night. He wanted the slave that asked curious questions. He wanted the slave who rode his cock and came with a soft cry.

Roose had to admit that he missed that. He had to. It was a hard for him and he felt like he was opening himself to a great weakness, but it was the truth. He missed Theon. It took him five days of solitude and quiet reflection to come to this conclusion, but there was no way he could ignore this fact forever. Now that he could admit it, he had to move on. Theon was Ramsay’s now, and that was the end of it.

There were two days left in his seven day absence when a storm came rolling in from the west. Roose opened the back door and leaned against the door frame and watched as big rain drops fell down through the trees. Thunder cracked through the sky. Lightning lit the grey storm clouds, turning them bright purple. Roose tried not to think of how happy Theon used to be running around the back yard like a dog in a field.

The storm was so loud he almost didn’t hear knocking on the front door.

Roose went back inside and walked the length of his house to answer it. Obviously he wasn’t expecting anyone, so it was odd to be getting a visitor. He opened the door without looking to see who it was and he found Damon of all people standing on his front porch. He did not look as if he’d been caught in the rain, but there were wet spots on his shoulders and some of his soft curls were damp.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Roose stepped back to allow him inside.

Once he was in the front door Damon ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out the rain. There was a heaviness about him. “…I need money,” he said after a moment.

Thunder cracked in the sky and Damon nearly jumped.

“What do you need money for?” Roose questioned. It wasn’t such a surprise. Damon didn’t technically have money of his own. His wages all went straight to paying his debt to Roose. He ate from the training facility cafeteria and free-loaded in a spare room in Ramsay’s apartment. Who else would he come to but Roose should he need cash? Roose would be willing to loan him some, as long as he knew why.

“Roose…” Damon looked like he might start pacing. He let out a breath nice and slow, trying not to seem shaky. “If… if something happened I’m supposed to tell you, right?”

Roose felt a sudden dread he had not felt since news of Domeric’s death had reached him. “What is it?” He asked, keeping his voice and tone level. Whatever dread he felt, he felt it inwardly.

“It’s that slave.” Damon could not lift his eyes to meet Roose’s. “He’s fucked up, Roose. He’s fucked up so bad. I gotta take him to a hospital or SPS or something.”

It should have been reassuring that it was just a slave that had been ‘fucked up’ (as Damon put it) and not the training facility. Really. Except there was no other slave they could be talking about but Theon and this complicated things entirely.

“Take him to the infirmary,” Roose replied. It might have seemed like a dismissive thing to say, but the infirmary was closer than any hospital or Slave Protective Service center. If there was something wrong with Theon and he needed medical help, the infirmary was their best bet.

Damon shook his head. “Ramsay will know. They’ll have to go to him to authorize anything since you put him in charge. Not to mention the possibility of him catching me with Theon in the training facility. He’d lose it, Roose. Hand to god, he’d go off.”

The more Damon spoke, the more worrisome the situation became. Roose recalled that ugly thought that had been lurking in the back of Roose’s mind, the one he refused to ask about. It had stuck in his head because it was the only viable option. Now he knew it was true. He should have just asked. He should have asked Damon sooner and things wouldn’t have gotten to this point. Of course Ramsay was taking his anger out on Theon. There were no other possibilities, and he’d been kidding himself all along.

“What’s your plan?” Roose asked, waving Damon to follow him. His wallet was sitting on the coffee table. He didn’t have cash on him but he had his credit card that he could hand over.

“Fuck,” Damon seemed shaken. “I don’t know. Ramsay will be home soon, so I can’t do anything tonight. Re… the slave will last that long, I think. Tomorrow I’ll take him to the hospital in town. As long as we make it back by night Ramsay probably won’t even know anything happened. I just… I don’t… will they let me take him home? They won’t keep him or try and take him away?”

Roose was had already retrieved his wallet by the time Damon was finished speaking. He slid his card out and readily handed it over. “How bad is he?”

Damon glanced up, meeting Roose’s eyes. “…bad.”

There was a silence that followed that shook the both of them. There were a million and one thoughts running through Roose’s head, mistakes he had made, things he should have done but didn’t do.

“You shouldn’t have given him to Ramsay,” Damon whispered then, plucking the number one regret from Roose’s brain and speaking it aloud.

“I’ll call,” Roose said instead of replying. “There’s a doctor still on staff who used to work at our infirmary. I’ll make sure he sees you and lets you take Theon home no matter what.”

Damon nodded.

Moments ago Roose was telling himself to forget about Theon, and now he was suddenly and almost desperately planning a way to get the slave back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahh! is theon okay? can he be saved! will roose finally reunite with his beloved slave?? TUNE IN NEXT TIME ! feel free to comment, or [talk to me on tumblr!](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) thanks so much for reading :)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! thanks for your comments and concern about theon! i appreciate every one of you leaving nice words or sending me asks. thank you! - no new tags for this chapter! - i hope the people who aren't fans of the books or show don't find this chapter too out of place or disinteresting. 
> 
> of course i need to say thank you to my beautiful beta subwaywolf! whenever i talk about him i always describe him as being incredibly smart and having great taste in things. i dont know how someone so smart and tasteful ended up with a wild af slashfic writer like me, but i'm forever grateful. not just for the hard work he did in beta-reading this entire fic, but for elevating me into being a more educated, well-rounded person and for raising the taste level of things immensely. thanks subwaywolf :)

The day Ramsay had left for certification, Roose told himself to cherish the next six months because they would be six months without confrontation. He knew even then that when Ramsay came back there would be chaos again. Ramsay had made a splash coming home and fucking Roose’s personal slave, but that had been just a splash. The water had been pulling back from shore for a while now, and the tidal wave was coming.

When Roose woke the next morning, he felt ready for anything.

So far as Ramsay knew, Roose was still “gone”. Roose had given him control of the training facility for exactly a week, and that week was not up. There might have been an element of surprise in Roose showing up for work unannounced and early from his leave, but Roose wasn’t relying on any surprise here. He was going to speak to Ramsay clearly and directly, and he was going to find out what exactly was going on. Roose was unfailingly commanding, and he was a figure of authority and control. Ramsay was not above him in any possible way and the boy needed a reminder of that.

Walking in through the front door and down the hall of the training facility, Roose was met with many trainers who were glad to see him. “Welcome back, ser,” they greeted him. One trainer even confessed how glad he was to see Roose again. Ramsay may not have burned the place down, but it was clear he had not been too well-loved as a leader. If the trainers had liked him, they wouldn’t seem so pleased that Roose had returned. He took their greetings in stride, but spoke to no one.

That was until Locke practically plowed into him. “Roose.” He stopped his boss in his tracks, fully blocking his path.

“I know,” Roose informed him plainly. He knew that there was something wrong with Theon, and on the larger scale that there was something entirely wrong with Ramsay, too. Any information Locke had regarding the matter had come too late.

“You’ve heard about the slaves then?” He asked, sounding surprised.

“Slaves?” Multiple?

“Ramsay brought them here last night.” Locke started to explain. “He left early yesterday without mentioning anything. I guess he returned later in the evening. I was gone by the time they arrived.”

“What slaves? Where did he get them from?” Roose demanded. This was… this was so unexpected he was having a hard time trying to reign in his confusion and anger. 

“…from a kennel.” Locke informed. “They’re raw slaves, Roose. Ramsay bought them, brought them here, and put them through in-processing late last night. They already have orders. I’m trying to find them and pull them out, but they’ve been integrated with the others. I’ll have them in your office in a few hours.”

Roose's ears rang, blotting out the sound of Locke's voice. The anger he felt was overwhelming in that moment. The hurt and betrayal just made his anger that much more potent. Ramsay knew Roose would never allow this. He knew that. It took a moment for Roose to regain his thoughts. Even though he was feeling inconsolable the only tip off was the slightly bitter expression on his face. He was relaxed, but very clearly unhappy. Best not flounder with his words and truly give away his emotions... 

“Make it sooner,” Roose pressured Locke. 

This was the type of thing he had feared would happen when Locke first brought the plan to him. He remembered sitting in his office, trying to push away thoughts of all the possible mistakes Ramsay could make. This was not so much a mistake as a flagrant affront to Roose. He waited for Locke to head out and set about his task before he continued down to his office. Roose knew Ramsay would be waiting for him there. He did not hesitate or stall or even knock on the door. He pushed it open to find his son sitting in his desk chair, kicking back and relaxing.

“Father,” Ramsay smiled. “Didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”

“What have you done?” Roose asked him softly. His voice may have been soft, but Roose's tone was not. 

Ramsay faltered immediately and his appearance of being blasé suddenly became forced. “...Are you referring how I’ve been holding things together while you’ve been gone?” He inquired with an innocence in his voice that was cloyingly sweet. 

Roose stared at him for a long long time. Not even Ramsay was immune to the harshness of his cold stare. “I gave you a chance and this is what happens instead? You go behind my back and do the one thing you know I’d never allow?”

Ramsay opened his mouth to speak, but Roose wasn’t done. 

“I gave you an opportunity to prove to me you could do well.” Roose shook his head.

“You can’t speak to me like I’m a slave!” Ramsay’s anger rose suddenly and he jolted up out of the chair he'd previously been lounging in. “This isn’t some exercise in trust. I know those tactics. I’ve learned those tactics. I use them on the sex slaves I train. You can’t treat me like this. I’m-“

“What?” Roose interrupted him. “Free? If it weren’t for your brother you’d still be grinding corn under the thumb of your previous owner. Domeric is the only reason you stand here before me today a freed man.”

Ramsay’s face turned red and his fists balled up. He opened his mouth to speak but Roose wouldn’t allow it.

“You killed him,” Roose said, voice low and ominous. 

Ramsay had been wrought onto this earth a mistake. Roose had gone too far with a female slave a long time ago when he was a different person. She welped this beast of a boy into the world, knowing he would be born into slavery. Ramsay had been following orders since the day he was born. He worked on farms and in fields. He still had the callouses on his hands to show how much time he’d spent doing manual labor. 

Roose had been content to leave it like that. He knew vaguely of Ramsay’s existence, but he had never cared. Domeric had cared, though. That was the fault with the boy, he was always so caring. Most men buy a companion as soon as they’re able. A slave their own age to share their youth with while they still had it. Domeric bought his own brother. He didn’t even want Ramsay to repay him, he simply bought him and freed him. Roose had warned him not to. It was a waste of money, and a waste of time, and a waste of effort. If he had known then that Domeric’s death would be the direct result, he would have tried to dissuade his son harder.

Ramsay had been a terrible slave, and his owner was glad to be rid of him. He made an even worse house guest, and a terrible brother to Domeric. He was used to lying and thieving and disobeying orders, and now that he had the free reign to do as he liked, he became a monster. Domeric tried to guide him, but Ramsay felt as though Domeric was trying to control him. It was disastrous.

What no one could account for was Ramsay coming of age and saving up his money to buy his own slave. He hadn’t saved up enough for a nice slave, though, he had saved up just enough for a troubled slave. A victim of abuse with a history of violence who reeked to high heaven. Roose knew it was a mistake the minute Ramsay had brought that thing home with him. That slave had been deranged.

“You made a choice in purchasing a slave that ended my son’s life.” The loss and the anger and the hate he truly felt for Ramsay was clear as crystal as Roose spoke. “If you were smart, you would have never bought another slave again for the rest of my life. But you’re not smart, are you?”

Ramsay had had enough. “Fuck you,” he said hotly. In his anger he shoved Roose’s monitor off of his desk. The glass screen cracked and mechanical pieces shattered on the ground. Ramsay looked like he might upend the entire desk next. “You were never going to give me the chance. I had to take it on my own.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Roose told him.

Ramsay was too angry to speak. He clenched his fists so tight his arms shook.

“Get out,” Roose ordered. He could not bare to look at his son a moment longer.

In his sudden urgency to rid Ramsay from his office, and muddled by the pain of remembering Domeric’s fate, Roose had completely forgotten about Theon. He needed to get the slave back, but he knew there was no way Ramsay would hand him over now. He would keep the slave out of spite if Roose asked for him. 

Roose could feel the tidal wave crashing all around him, and he wondered how he let himself get so lost in the sea that was Ramsay’s rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! ...but wait there's more! another double chapter update! feel free to leave a comment, send me an [ask](http://www.frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr, or just continue on to the next chapter!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no new tags but a few characters have been added! the illustrious Stannis Barathon mentioned a few chapters back makes his appearance, accompanied of course by Davos Seaworth! 
> 
> thanks to my beautiful beta subwaywolf. while i usually identify pretty heavily w stannis myself, he's definitely the one going through this fic and fixing things; changing the word 'less' to 'fewer' and what not. thanks for all your stannis-like hard work. you were dutiful in beta-reading this fic just like he is. aaaand you're probably gonna kill me for comparing you to stannis lmao!

The slaves were sick.

Ramsay hadn’t shown up for work in days. 

The slaves were sick, and more and more were getting sicker.

Damon wasn’t answering his cell.

The slaves were sick, and the infirmary filled up so fast there was no way to quarantine them all. 

Roose had half a mind to go over there and beat down Ramsay’s door with his own bare hands. He even entertained the idea of bringing SPS down on him like the wrath of a god. He couldn’t do that, though, because Theon could just as easily be traced back to him. This whole thing could be traced back to him and his negligence. Besides, he didn’t even know which apartment Ramsay lived in, only that he lived in the same apartment complex everyone else did. 

Roose had never seen so many sick slaves in his life. He could not trace the illness back to the slaves Ramsay had bought, but there was no other way this could have happened. Locke had rounded them up and Roose had seen the lot of them with his own eyes. 

There were five slaves in total. Ramsay did have a keen eye for good looking slaves, but what he failed to take into account was whether the slaves were sickly or not. Roose did not notice any coughing or illness when they were brought to him, but it wasn’t that easy. Communicable diseases weren’t always so obvious. That's what in and out processing was for. That's why they inspected and processed slaves. Ramsay had bought these five cheaply and shoved them into the system without thinking. Now the entire facility was a mess. 

The chief medical trainer in the infirmary confirmed that it was the flu. The slaves would need shots; all of them. Most of them had not been vaccinated before and were at risk for complications. The cost would be enormous. This would have to go in all of their files. The thought of taking care of this was almost overwhelming. The whole place would come to a screeching halt. They would lose so much money. 

For at least an hour or two, Roose was sure that this was a purposeful sabotage, but in the end, he concluded that Ramsay was just an idiot. According to the in-processing trainer who had seen the slaves the night Ramsay had brought them in, Ramsay had bragged about how cheap they were and what a great deal they were getting. The trainer had suggested taking them to the infirmary for a checkup because the out-processing page in their files was bare looking and suspicious but Ramsay wouldn’t allow it. 

He likely thought that the sooner he got the slaves integrated with the rest, the less likely Roose would be to try and pull them out of their training. He was wrong. All five slaves had been shipped off to The Wall immediately. The Night’s Watch didn’t pay very much for slaves but no one else was like to take them.

Roose was going to have to cancel all auctions and showcases for at least a month. There was no way he could buy new slaves and bring them into a cesspool like this. It would be one thing if these were the only problems on his mind, but they weren’t. Roose could not stop thinking about Theon. He had abandoned all modesty and called Damon nearly every hour. What if something had happened to Damon as well? What if he’d been caught taking Theon to the hospital? Could Ramsay have turned on his friend?

Roose was going to have to drive over after work. There was no other option. He would leave now if there wasn’t an entire mess of slaves with the flu to sort out first.

There was a knock on Roose's office door. Locke let himself in. 

“I ...have some bad news,” he said very seriously and all at once. 

Roose almost laughed. He bared his teeth in a cruel smile. “Can things get any worse than this?”

“Listen. There’s a bar that a lot of the trainers like to go to.”

Roose nodded. He knew the one. 

Locke slid his phone from his pocket and brandished it. “I got a text from the bartender who works there. He says Stannis Baratheon’s sitting at a table eating lunch there right now.”

Bad news? This was much worse than bad news. There wasn’t a word to describe this type of news. Catastrophic news. Career-ending news. 

Curiously enough, Roose found himself wondering how Locke and the bartender had become such friends. Of all things, that’s where his mind went. Maybe if he focused hard enough on Locke and his personal life he could forget entirely what had just been said to him. 

“Roose,” Locke stepped forward. “Did you hear me?”

Roose nodded. “Stannis Baratheon.”

Stannis Baratheon.

Stannis. Fucking. Baratheon.

Head of Slave Protective Services and chief health inspector, Stannis Baratheon. There was one man in the world who had the power to take one look at this place and shut it all down, and he was less than an hour away eating lunch. There were no other major training facilities in the area. The head of SPS was not like to come this far north to mess around with some small fry kennels, either. There was only one reason he could be here. 

Of course “The Dreadfort” was due for a health inspection. All training facilities were inspected once a year. There used to be required laws about SPS announcing their arrival one week in advance, but that lead to complications. Trainers would spruce things at their facility enough to pass the test while operating at a sub-standard level for the rest of the year. The law about SPS being required to announce their arrival had been struck down years ago. 

Roose would not have minded Stannis’s arrival, as much as he disliked Stannis, but now was not a good time. Now was the worst possible time. Stannis did not need a reason to shut them down. He disliked Roose. He disliked the entire concept of sexual slavery and everyone knew he was harsher on trainers who trained sex slaves. It did not help that he also disapproved of Roose’s varied use of many frowned upon punishments. It was always a struggle to get a passing grade from one of Stannis’s inspections. There was no way he was he was going to pass them when he found nearly every one of Roose’s slaves was sick with the flu. 

“Send him in when he arrives,” Roose decided. It was too late now to beat himself up for mistakes he’d already made and for things that were out of his control. Whatever happened when Stannis arrived would happen. 

Roose thought it would take longer. He thought Stannis would take his sweet time getting here. He thought he would spend at least half the day sitting with a knot in his stomach uneagerly awaiting the man’s arrival. He did spend a good hour or so contemplating why Stannis hadn’t just gone on to train soldier slaves like the rest of his family. Why was he a health inspector? Why did the most miserable of all men pick the most miserable of all jobs? Roose was deep in thought about this when the knock on his door came. It was not so different than any other knock, but he knew the fate of his training facility awaited behind it. 

Locke escorted Stannis in. Grey Stannis. Dreary Stannis. Drab Stannis. He looked miserable. He was already clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth. Roose had forgotten about his tendency to do that when he came across something he disliked. He’d lead the man around his training facility enough times to know what that clenched jaw meant. 

Davos followed after him the way he always did. 

When Stannis moved to take a seat, Davos remained standing. He stayed a step back, politely off to the left. None of them spoke for a long moment, and the silence in the room was overwhelming. 

“...Would your companion like to sit?” Roose asked after a moment.

Stannis practically narrowed his eyes at him; deep blue eyes, sunken back into his skull. “He isn’t a companion, he’s a freed man.” Stannis informed dutifully. He was completely stiff in the armchair he was sitting in and Roose wondered why he didn’t just stand if he did not know how to relax. 

“My mistake,” Roose admitted. He may be free now, but everyone knew where Davos Seaworth had come from. He’d been a slave, too, before Stannis had plucked him from slavery and raised him to freedom. He still had the makings of a slave. A good slave. A loyal slave. 

“Influenza,” Stannis all but cut him off.

Roose did not speak a reply to that. It had been neither a statement not a question, simply a word, and it did not need a response. 

“We barely made it in the front door before we saw a vomiting slave,” Davos put in, sounding unimpressed and slightly disgusted. 

“You’ve come at a bad time,” Roose told them. “It’s been years since we’ve had an outbreak but it was bound to happen again.”

Stannis shook his head. “I don’t like you,” he said plainly as if it wasn’t obvious. “I don’t like the way you train your slaves. I’ve never had a reason to put you out of business, Bolton. Now I do.”

The reality of those words had not yet sunk in so Roose only nodded slowly. “Is that what you intend to do? Put me out of business?”

“I intend to come back in a week,” Stannis said then. “I’ll see what improvements you and your slaves have made. If they’re still sick, I will be shutting you down.”

A week. There it was again. Seven fateful days. As if the last week in Roose’s life had not been fateful enough. As if all of Roose’s slaves could possibly get over the flu in a week. Roose was doomed from the moment Locke had told him Stannis was in town. If he was being completely honest he had probably doomed himself well before that. He could trace it back to letting Ramsay have control of the training facility. He could trace it even further back to letting Domeric spend his money to buy Ramsay. If he really wanted to, he could trace it all the way back to when he’d fucked Ramsay’s mother and left her to get pregnant. 

“I understand,” Roose said. 

Stannis nodded. As soon as he’d come in, he stood and he saw himself out. Davos followed after him. Roose could hear Locke from the hallway offering to show them out the front door. Stannis and Davos declined. Locke had the wherewithal to wait until they’d disappeared down the hall before quickly joining Roose in his office. This place was his livelihood, and this job was the only one he had ever had. He’d been here for years and years and years. He was terrified to ask but seemed to want to know what would happen all at once. 

“We have a week to cure all our slaves of their illnesses,” Roose informed. He might have also said ‘we have a week to part the seas’ or ‘we have a week to find the cure for greyscale’. It made no difference. It was all impossible. 

“...is Stannis mad?” Locke asked. 

Mad? No. He must have been cruel though. He knew there was no way Roose could turn this place around that fast. He was prolonging their suffering for some reason. Maybe Stannis was expecting a miracle. Maybe Stannis hoped to see a magic trick. Maybe he _was_ mad.

“You’ve been working for me for a long time,” Roose said softly. “Quit now while you still can. Karhold will hire you on. Go to the Night’s Watch if you’re desperate.”

“No,” Locke shook his head. “If this ships going down, I’m going down with it. I’m going down with you, Roose.”

Roose shook his head. Oh no. He wasn’t going down with this place. “I didn’t make this mess. The one responsible for it should be here for when the retribution comes.”

Ramsay had always wanted to own this place, what better time to hand over the keys?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! come back soon for an update because in the next chapter we WILL be seeing theon again! dun Dun DUN! :) as always feel free to comment or [send me an ask on tumblr](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask)! :)


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for waiting so patiently, leaving nice comments and sending asks! we finally get to see theon again, but please be careful reading these next few chapters. things get very dark. some new tags are starvation, amputation, abuse and cruelty. i think that says it all doesn't it? i guess we couldn't expect much else from ramsay. just as a side note though the amputation is only mentioned, not described in detail, so no gore or anything.
> 
> of course i would like to thank my beta subwaywolf. i still can't believe how long this fic is and how hard he worked on it. not just in editing it but helping write it, encouraging me, checking facts, helping me name it, and most importantly putting up with all my bullshit. especially considering i made him beta this whole dam thing like a couple weeks before christmas and didn't even post it until like six months later because i'm a terrible monster lmao. but he got it done, because i am amazing, and i honestly don't deserve him or how good he is. thank you subwaywolf, for everything!

Roose knocked again at the door. He could not be certain that this was Ramsay’s apartment, but he was sure enough. 

One of his trainers had recognized Roose at the front door and let him inside. This was the type of apartment complex where key fobs were necessary for entry or else one had to be buzzed in. She had been coming home for the night when she spotted him standing outside the front entrance. 

“Need in, ser?” She'd smiled politely and held her key up to unlock the doors to the building.

“I’m looking for Ramsay,” Roose told her.

The apartment complex was nice. The main door opened up to a long narrow hallway. The floors had oddly patterned carpeting and the doors were solid black. 

“Ooh. I think he’s up on the third floor. 309?” She’d tipped her head towards the elevator. 

Roose rode up alone and in silence.

As he knocked one more time, Roose realized that the employee had not sounded entirely certain when she’d said the apartment number. If she was wrong, Roose would try the next one. If that one was wrong, he would try the next door after that. He would knock on every door until he found Ramsay.

Roose raised his fist one more time and was about to give the door another pound when he heard the latch slide. The door slid open and Damon was found on the other side. He looked like he’d spent the last three days without a wink of sleep. His eyes were red and raw and his hair was a mess. “...Roose?”

“Where’s Ramsay?” Roose demanded. 

Damon waved him inside. The lights were all dim within and the glare of a TV made it hard to make out anything in the dark.

“Rams!” Damon shouted. He trampled over paper plates and receipts and someone’s hoodie that had been left on the ground. He walked over to a bedroom door and pounded his fist hard on it. “For the love of God. Ramsay!”

Ramsay surfaced a moment later. His hair was tied back in a top knot and he was wearing a white wife beater speckled with blood. His knuckles were raw. He squared his jaw as soon as he saw Roose.

"What are you doing in my apartment?” Ramsay asked coldly.

“Sign these,” Roose said instead of answering. He lifted his red leather briefcase and placed it gently on the back of the couch. When he unlatched it the top popped open. There were two thick documents inside. He pulled them both out and tossed them down onto the couch cushions. 

Ramsay eyed them suspiciously. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” he asked. 

Roose glanced around for any signs of Theon. “Yes,” he answered honestly. 

“I’m not signing anything if I don’t know what it is,” Ramsay crossed his arms over his chest. 

“That’s the deed to the training facility and the contract regarding ownership of the business.” Roose informed.

Ramsay still did not move. He stared hard at Roose. “Is this a trick?” he asked. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Yes,” Roose answered honestly again. “The real reason I came here is for my slave. I’m willing to trade you: The Dreadfort for Theon.”

Ramsay laughed a bitter laugh. “Is this the part where I find out Reek’s actually worth a million dollars or something? That can’t be true. Anyone worth that much would be better at swallowing cock.”

Reek? He’d been calling the slave Reek? Roose was appalled. 

Damon had taken a few cautious steps over to the couch. He picked up one of the documents and squinted at it in the dark. After leafing through a few pages he glanced at Ramsay. “Rams… this looks genuine. It’s got like… stamps and seals on it and shit.”

“It is genuine,” Roose told them. “Sign it. Take the training facility, it’s yours.”

“No,” Ramsay refused. “The last time you gave me something it turned out to be a sick slave who didn’t know how to follow orders. Do you know how long it took me to break him in? And now you want him back? No. Something’s wrong with the place. This is some kind of ruse. I don’t care. I’m not signing.”

“The slaves are sick,” Roose explained softly and carefully. “You’ll have to contend with them. It will be your burden to bare.” 

Ramsay stiffened, suddenly surprised by the honesty. “How sick?”

Roose continued. “Ninety percent of them have come down with the flu. You’ll have to actually pay for the medicine. You’ll have to stop selling for a while. The place will likely close its doors considering your leadership, but if you want it you can have it.”

There we go. That was what Ramsay needed. A pinch of a challenge and a dash of insecurity. “Bring that thing to me, Damon,” he ordered. 

Damon glanced up at Roose and caught his eyes for a moment. His expression read like desperation, but Roose could not tell as to what he was so desperate for. He picked up both documents and carried them over to where Ramsay was standing. Ramsay stared down hard at them in the dim light. He’d never been very good at reading. 

“Sign it,” Damon whispered harshly. “If you don’t, I will. Then I’ll be in charge of the place and you’ll be taking orders from me.” 

“Give me a pen,” Ramsay demanded. 

Damon scrambled to find one. He ended up with a sharpie that had been lying on the floor next to a grocery store bag and some food wrappers. He passed it to Ramsay. Ramsay used the wall to write against he scribbled his name across the appropriately empty lines. “If you’re fucking with me, I’ll kill him.” Ramsay said so gently he did not sound like himself. 

Roose did not even deem that comment worthy of a reply. 

When it was finished, when Ramsay’s signature was in all the right place, Roose thought he would feel a lightness. The sinking ship that was his training facility was no longer his problem. He should feel happy about that. Instead he wondered what on earth he was going to do with himself. He had always been a slave trainer. He liked running a business. He was good at it. He had nothing else.

“Go get Reek,” Ramsay said, bossing Damon around. He did not move to hand the documents to Roose but instead held on to them. 

Damon disappeared into Ramsay’s bedroom and did not come back for quite a long time. When he did he had some skeletal creature hobbling along beside him, not the same muscular slave Roose knew. Even in the darkness of the apartment he could tell everything about Theon was wrong. His arms and legs were too thin. His belly was concave and sunken in. His hair was thin, ripped out in places and matted in others. His cheeks were hollow. Some of his fingers were missing. _Missing_. Fingers _and toes_. Gone, as if chopped away with a butcher’s knife. Roose thought he might be ill from the stench that wafted off the slave. He smelled like putrefaction and rot. 

“You’re lucky, Reek.” Ramsay gave him a wayward glance. “I was wrong all the times I told you no one else could possibly want you. My father’s still got a stiff cock for you after all despite how ugly you are now.”

Theon did not lift his head. “Yes, ser. I’m lucky, ser,” he whispered in a cracked voice. 

Roose felt unwell.

“Go on, get out of my sight.” Ramsay gave him a shove.

Theon stumbled towards Roose. He flinched hard when Roose wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Roose gave his son a glance of warning and contempt, and he carefully lead the slave out into the hallway. Roose was glad to be out of the apartment and away from Ramsay.

Theon lifted a hand and shielded his eyes from the bright light of the hallway with the fingers he had left. He looked even more unfortunate in the light. Roose was disgusted by what he had standing next to him. He knew his son was capable of cruelty, but not such cruelties as this. 

“This way,” Roose urged in a soft voice. 

Theon did not seem to recognize Roose, but he followed the instruction he was given unfailingly. They took the elevator down to the first floor and Roose lead the way out onto the street. Theon seemed to be more comfortable in the darkness that blanketed the evening outside than he had been in the bright lights of the apartment hallway.

Roose walked Theon to his car. He opened the passenger door. Theon stood, stuck, rooted to the sidewalk. 

“Get in,” he told the slave firmly. Theon hesitated but climbed in after a moment. He was starting to shake like a leaf. By the time Roose circled around to get in the driver’s side, the slave was trembling. Roose had to do his seatbelt for him. 

When they reached the highway and got up to speed was when Theon began to hyperventilate. 

“Breathe,” Roose ordered in a soft, stable tone. 

“‘...wrong...this is...thi..th.. ‘swrong.” He shook his head, croaking words out under his breath. 

He would have reached out to give Theon a comforting pat on the thigh, but he was so sure Theon would flinch away again. He didn’t want to startle or upset the slave. 

“It’s alright,” Roose reiterated sounding as calm as he possibly could. “It’s alright now. I’m taking you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! come back soon to see what awaits roose and theon! as always fee free to comment or [send me an ask](http://www.frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask)! :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys thanks so much for your comments! finally an update where we really get to see and hear from theon again. **tho please be careful and remember all the tags, especially regarding abuse and cruelty. i've also added PTSD** to the tags, and i'm not sure how to tag this properly but there are **mentions of ramsay removing theon's teeth**. no details of the teeth removal, but like.. ahh roose looks at the empty sockets and stuff haha. i know that would freak me out to read without warning so please be careful! a new character is going to be added, but seeing as they only get two lines in this chapter i'll wait till tomorrow to tag them when they become more prominent. enjoy!!
> 
> also thanks of course to my beta subwaywolf. i still can't believe he read this whole thing and edited it. that alone would make him the most patient person i know, but no. he puts up with so much more than that. all my complaining on twitter, all my silly questions... where he was able to get this done in the allotted time, it took me forever to finish and post. without him and his patience and understanding this fic might still be sitting in the drafts of my phone somewhere. thank you so much subwaywolf! thank you for still being patient with me to this day, i admire and adore you and aspire to be just like you :')

Theon did not even seem to recognize the house when Roose pulled up. He was still panicked and his chest was rising and falling rapidly as a result. He followed Roose tentatively through the front door but did not bother to lift his head or glance around. Roose remembered the first time he’d brought Theon here. His eyes had wandered everywhere and he had looked at everything. He spoke out of turn to mention how beautiful the place was. Now he looked like he was trying to hide in plain sight.

The first thing Roose tried to do was give Theon a bath. The slave smelled terrible, and it was clear he was covered in filth and dirt. This should have been easy. This was something they had done every day while they were together. It should be familiar and comforting. Instead Theon fought tooth and nail not to be bathed. You’d think the bathroom was a torture chamber and the running water a blade.

“No, please,” he begged. He gripped the door frame with the fingers he had and he dug his heels into the carpet. He shook his head, refusing to listen as Roose firmly encouraged him.

“It’s just a bath. The water will be nice and warm.” Roose wasn’t very good at being comforting. He tried his hardest, but this had never been his strong suit. “You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”

Theon shook his head. “He’ll hurt me,” he protested in a weak voice.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” Roose promised.

“Ramsay will. He’ll know. He’ll punish me.” Theon was quickly losing his composure, and his panic was returning to him.

“Look at me,” Roose commanded. He did not reach out to turn the slave’s face up to meet his own because he was sure Theon would go running if Roose tried to touch him. 

The slave seemed as if he was resisting some unnatural force that was forcing his head to turn. He turned his face up to Roose’s and met his eyes.

Theon’s left eye was bruised. His cheeks were hollow. His lips were chapped and bleeding, bloody raw. His hair was matted around the sides of his face. There was a healing scar under his chin that had never been there before. The longer he stared at Roose the more uncertain he became and big tears started to well up in his blue eyes.

“Ramsay’s given you back to me. He’s not your owner; I am. He cannot hurt you.” It might take a long time for Theon to fully understand this. He didn't need to fully understand it right this second, he just had to believe it enough to climb into the tub. “Can you behave? Can you do as I tell you?”

Theon hesitated before nodding gently.

“Good. I want you to take a bath.” Roose held out his hand and it took a long moment but Theon tentatively reached out for it. His remaining fingers were thin and boney. His wrist was a hard knot in the thin stick that was his arm. There were burn scars up near his inner elbow that Roose could see. Carefully he lead Theon to the tub. Theon seemed to have second thoughts before he climbed into the bath. He whined low in his throat but forced himself to step into the water.

“Good,” Roose said again. He let Theon use him as a handrail as he stepped in with his other foot next. The slave stood awkwardly in the knee deep water for a moment before he concluded that he ought to sit. He folded himself down into a compact little ball, hugging his legs and hiding his face behind his knees.

Roose turned off the running water and the silence that filled the room was incredible.

Roose found a full bar of soap and started scrubbing away at least three months of dirt, maybe more. He tried to calculate how long Theon had been with Ramsay but the last few months had been a blur. Almost four, he figured. 

The answer wasn’t how many days or weeks, though. The answer was, long enough. Long enough for Ramsay to retrain him. Long enough for Ramsay to torture him. Long enough for Ramsay to bruise him and scar him and starve him. Long enough for Ramsay to create a shell of the slave that had once been.

Theon was clearly afraid of Roose touching him. He offered his arm out to be scrubbed only because Roose asked for it. He hunched his back as Roose worked the soap into his shoulders. Theon’s spine stuck out from under his skin. Roose could have counted every vertebrae if he wanted to, right along with Theon’s ribs. He found scars or bruising everywhere. No matter where he slid the soap there was something else new and horrible to find underneath the layers or dirt. There were marks from razors and whips and the thick of Ramsay’s fists.

Roose tried not to feel guilty, but he knew that this was his fault. If he had not handed Theon over to his son, this never would have happened to him. If Roose was at fault he would fix what he’d done wrong, as much as he could. He would care for Theon despite all that was wrong with him. That was the very least Roose could do, and it was something that he actually wanted to do. He didn’t have a training facility anymore after all, what else would he be able to pour his time into if not Theon?

It was not so hollow a feeling as he thought it might be, trading many slaves for just the one. He was good at his job, and he had done it well for years, but recently he’d only had one thing on his mind and it wasn’t his training facility. He was driven when it came to Theon; driven in a way he hadn’t been at work. Where he so easily he handed over the responsibility of show cases and auctions, and then eventually the deed to the place to Ramsay… Roose could not bare the thought of handing Theon over so easily. He couldn’t fathom how he’d done it once. He would never do it again. Not ever.

Roose had the slave kneel. The water had turned a faint greyish brown from all the dirt they had scrubbed off of Theon’s skin so far. Roose thought the worst part was sliding the soap over the spaces in between Theon’s fingers and toes were the fingers and toes were no longer there. Theon cringed and closed his eyes, as if he could hide from the horror of his missing body parts. It seems as though he had received some care at the hospital, Damon must have taken him after all, but that thought was little comfort if any. 

Roose was wrong though. That was not the worst part. The worst part were the bruises and raw red scarring he found on Theon’s cock and balls. Theon gave a good whimper of pain when Roose carefully soaped between his cheeks as well. Roose noted this, deciding he would need to check the damage.

Roose washed Theon’s hair. It was matted and brittle. It might be better that they cut it off instead of trying to contend with the knots. He would try after the bath to see if the knots would come out, but Roose was not hopeful. 

When he dried Theon off dead skin came off in flakes from his body. He was pale pink now instead of dirty brown and Roose could see every mark Ramsay had left quite clearly.

Roose sat Theon on the side of the tub and worked at his hair with a comb. He took his time, carefully picking through each knot. Huge chunks and mats came out and littered the bathtub and tile floor. Theon sat for it without complaint. He started to shiver even though he was mostly dry so Roose wrapped a warm towel around his shoulders and continued. There were bald sections of the slave’s scalp that showed scars, some of them still fresh. Even though they’d managed to get rid of most of the knotting, his hair was hideous. They would need to shave it after all. They could do that tomorrow, or maybe the next day. Roose didn’t want to put Theon through that tonight.

“Are you hungry?” Roose asked him, circling around so that they could talk face to face. He’d never actually asked Theon that before, he’d always just fed the slave whenever he deemed it necessary to.

The slave shook his head.

Roose found that hard to believe. He was skin and bones.

“When was the last time Ramsay fed you?” Roose inquired further.

Theon was staring hard at the tile floor. He didn’t answer.

“…Theon,” Roose pressed him softly, urging a reply. What he got instead was a hard flinch.

“Please, don’t,” Theon whimpered. He turned from Roose as if he could hide, drawing his shoulders up to his ears. He mumbled softly under his breath, repeating the name Ramsay had given him. Reek.

Roose reached out very gently for Theon’s wrists. They were raw from being bound. Roose could not guess as to what made the marks but he was careful as he held such tender skin. Theon let him take his arms. He let Roose step in close to him. 

“Shh,” Roose quieted him. “Remember what I told you earlier? Ramsay isn’t your owner anymore, I am. I want to know when’s the last time you’ve eaten.”

Though he had easily been quieted Theon started to breathe very quickly again. “It’s not about what I want, it’s about what you want,” he whispered, voice breaking. He seemed to be recalling how things used to work between the two of them.

Roose’s brow dimpled in concern. This was not how he wanted things to go. He did not want to have to give Theon hard orders, but kindness was not going to get them anywhere. If Roose didn’t push, Theon would stay stuck in the mindset of refusing baths and not eating and being called Reek. It might be detrimental to enforce Roose’s will right now instead of Theon’s, but they had to start somewhere. If he could undo the damage Ramsay had done first then they could work on building Theon up again, but they had to start at the bottom. This was not how Roose wanted things to go, but it was what he had to do in order for progress in the future.

“Yes,” he told Theon clearly. “That’s right. It’s not about what you want, it’s about what I want.” Soon, he would have to explain that this was a lie and that Theon deserved to have the things he wanted too, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

“...few days ago, I think.” Theon answered, daring to lift his eyes for a flash of a second. “At... at the hospital, maybe…I don’t know…” his little voice trailed off.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten. Roose was so disheartened.

Roose reached out to help Theon up. Theon flinched but let Roose pull him onto his feet. The bathtub had drained while he’d worked on Theon’s hair. There was dirt caking the sides but Roose left it. He left, and he left the hair on the floor. It could wait. He helped Theon into the bedroom where he found an old pair of pajamas for the slave to wear. This was the first time he had ever dressed Theon in clothes. The outfit swamped him. It hung loosely on his thin frame making Roose realize just how tiny Theon was. It didn’t need to fit, it just needed to keep him warm. Theon seemed almost befuddled at the prospect of wearing clothes but he didn’t raise a voice of protest. Once he was dressed they headed down to the first floor. The slave was especially slow on the staircase, but Roose was patient with him. 

Roose pulled a cushion from one of the chairs at the table and placed it on the floor. He instructed Theon to sit and went to work making food. He heated up a can of chicken broth and fried an egg. He cut the egg into very small pieces and added only about a third of it to the soup. The egg and chicken would be a good source of protein and something to fill Theon’s belly. Roose poured a glass of orange juice as well. The flavors wouldn’t mix particularly well but there were vitamins in orange juice that would be beneficial.

It was lucky that Roose had dealt with half-starved and abused slaves all his life or he might have had to take Theon back to the hospital instead. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to take him anyway, but not tonight. He was already dealing with a lot. They would poke him and prod him at a hospital anyway, and Theon could use at least one night where he wasn’t being subjected to treatment he hadn’t agreed to. 

Roose walked the meal, small as it was, over to the table and sat. He could make Theon very ill by feeding him too much too fast so they started with careful spoonfuls of broth first. Roose blew on each one before gently guiding the spoon to Theon’s mouth.

Theon did such a good job. He ate half the bowl and even managed most of the egg Roose had included in the soup. He drank all of the orange juice too. Roose considered giving Theon some over-the-counter pain killers, but it would only make his stomach ache on account of how empty it was. Once Theon was eating better he could take some tylenol or ibuprofen as needed. As soon as Theon started to seem pained by Roose offering him new spoonfuls of soup, they stopped. 

Roose slid his chair back and shifted to face the slave. He reached out and turned Theon’s face up despite the flinching that resulted. “I have an important question,” he told the slave. 

Theon frowned deeply. 

“I want you to tell me what hurts.”

The slave swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. Roose had had him sitting with his legs crossed but Theon moved to pull one up to his chest.

“Nothing,” he lied. 

Roose shook his head. “No. Tell me the truth. What hurts?”

“...my stomach.” Theon admitted first. The admission seemed to be difficult for him. 

“Like you’ve eaten too much food? Or like you’re going to be sick? Or like you’ve been hit?” Roose asked, trying to narrow down what was wrong and what they could do to help it. 

“Too much… too much food,” Theon decided, swallowing nervously. 

Roose nodded. They’d go easier tomorrow. More broth for breakfast and a few bites of toast throughout the day. Maybe some thin oatmeal for dinner. Milk and juice and water all day. 

“Good job,” Roose commended him. “What else?”

Theon hesitated for a long moment. He bit at his lip and reconsidered again and again before he spoke. “My mouth,” he whispered. 

That was a surprise. Roose didn’t let on that this had surprised him though he simply nodded gently. “Lift your chin up and open your mouth.” He instructed. 

Theon did not want to. 

“I only want to look,” Roose informed him very carefully. He expected Ramsay had done a great deal of sticking his cock in there and Roose wanted Theon to know he did not intend to do the same thing in that moment. 

Theon seemed to put his trust in this and he opened his mouth for Roose to peer inside. Because of the lighting in the dining room Roose had to pull out his phone. He turned on the flashlight and shined it in. There were several of Theon’s teeth that were missing. He was astounded that he hadn’t noticed. Then again the slave barely looked up to speak to him and Roose hadn’t even gotten a great look at his face much less in his mouth. Some of the sockets where the teeth were missing looked infected and wrong. On top of that, there was at least one ulcer that Roose could see. Eating and drinking just now probably hadn’t helped anything. 

Roose was fairly sure he had some benzocaine gel but that would only be a bandaid. Theon needed his mouth looked at by a professional. “Good,” Roose murmured, steadying his voice. “What else?”

Theon ducked his head away as soon as he was free from Roose’s scrutiny. Crinkled strands of thin fair fell over his face, hiding it a little. He didn’t speak. Even when pressed he refused to say another word. Roose tried to encourage him but his questioning started to sound like demands and he didn’t want to upset the slave when he was already in such a state. 

Theon may not be ready to admit it, but Roose knew Ramsay had to have torn into him while fucking him. He wasn’t kind enough to treat such tears with anything antibacterial though, he would have left it to heal on its own and ripped him open again the next day. Roose decided that he would need to find out about the damage on his own if Theon could not muster the courage to mention it. 

Roose helped the slave to his feet. Together they slowly made their way back upstairs. They returned to the bathroom. Roose had forgotten he’d left a mess and he was taken aback by the sight of things. Carefully they brushed Theon’s teeth with a wet toothbrush and no tooth paste. Roose avoided any empty sockets. Still, Theon teared up at the pain. He found the tube of topical pain reliever in a drawer. Roose learned how odd it was to apply the gel to another human being, but Theon seemed grateful once it was done.

When they were finished Roose rifled through the bathroom drawers. He found some antibacterial cream and some antiseptic and he wet a small wash cloth. With all these things in hand he walked Theon out to the bed. 

“Slide down your bottoms and lay down on your side,” he instructed, intending to help. The slave turned white as a sheet, not that he had much color to begin with. He did not hesitate, though. He did precisely what he was told as quickly as his aching body would allow him to. 

There were fading bruises on Theon's behind that resembled the ones from when Roose had given him sixty lashes with a belt. Roose had been careful not to leave scars then, but Ramsay was far less considerate. There were lash marks on Theon's cheeks that would never go away. Roose slid the palm of his hand over them, feeling disappointed. How could Ramsay be so willing to leave these marks? A scarred slave was not a beautiful slave, every trainer in the world knew that.

“Good,” Roose murmured softly. He had walked Theon to the side of the bed closest to the the lamp on the bedside table, but he would still need his phone’s flashlight. “Pull your knee up to your chest.” Roose continued his instructions. Theon did that as well. Roose manually shifted Theon’s hips a little with his own two hands, adjusting them to give him just the right amount of access. Having his knee pulled up gave Roose quite a show, but he spread Theon’s cheeks to see better.

He found precisely what he had expected to find. Theon's hole was red and raw, practically swollen purple. He had been torn open again and again. There were bright red tears right along with pink healing tears.

Roose gently wiped Theon with the wet wash cloth. He had been so careful in the bath, not wanting to cause any undue pain, but he’d missed some of the crusted blood as a result. The slave made a soft noise in pain as it happened. Roose moved on to the antibacterial and antiseptic creams next. He spread them thickly over the slave’s tender hole. Theon's soft noise of pain grew into a long sad whimper when Roose disinfected him.

"Hush," he soothed Theon softly. 

They would have to do this again and again until he was better healed. Theon didn’t deserve the pain of it, he’d already been through so much, but it was in order to help him so it had to be done. He wiped away any excess with a dry corner of the damp wash cloth. Roose needed to look inside and survey the damage done within as well, but he couldn’t subject Theon to that. Not tonight. 

When he was done he slid the pajama bottoms back into place. Theon curled tight into a ball, hiding his face in the sheets. 

“Relax,” Roose told him, perhaps a little too sternly. He had to take a moment and adjust, reminding himself to be careful with the slave. “It’s time for bed.”

He helped Theon climb under the covers, pulling them all the way up under the boy’s chin. He smoothed down the slave’s brittle hair. “Close your eyes and sleep.”

Roose turned out the light and went to deal with the mess in the bathroom. He sprayed down the tub and wiped it clean. He swept up the hair and put it in the trashcan. He put all the towels they had used in the hamper. He put away his own toothbrush, the one he had loaned Theon to brush his teeth. He put away all everything else. When he was finished that, he went downstairs and cleaned up the mess from dinner.

Roose usually liked to stand and look at his accomplishment once he’d finished it, even if it was just the dishes in the sink or a spotless bathroom. This was different. His work was not done. Theon was upstairs laying in bed still very broken. Nothing would feel finished until he was better again. 

When he returned to his bedroom, ready to call it a night, he found Theon weeping. He was clutching a pillow, crying heavily into it. His petite frame shook with the force of his sobs. He did not try and stifle himself. 

Roose went to him all at once, switching on the light. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “What hurts?”

“I called your name,” Theon sobbed.

Roose sank down to his knees beside the bed, staring at the slave with concern. Just now? Roose hadn’t heard…

“When Gregor grabbed me. I screamed for you. He grabbed me and he hurt me and I called out and you didn’t hear me.”

Roose was surprised that Theon even remembered that. He hadn’t even seemed to remember this house a moment ago. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you,” he explained to the slave very earnestly. The showcase floor had been so full of people and voices. It was not a surprise that Theon’s had gotten lost in the din.

“I screamed for you when Ramsay took me away,” Theon sobbed harder. “I begged for you to take me back until he beat me. You didn’t come. You didn’t come for so long. I screamed and screamed and you left me there. You left me with _him_.” The slave choked on his anger, sounding more hurt than mad. He sobbed hard, gasping for breath. The fingers he had clenched tight in the pillow case.

Roose felt ill. 

“Theon,” Theon flinched hard at the name, but Roose continued. “You’re mine. I’m not letting you get away again. I won’t let anyone else take you. If you call my name, I’ll come. I swear by that.”

Theon only sobbed harder. 

Roose extracted the pillow from the slave’s death grip. He clambered into bed, sitting up against the headboard and let Theon wrap his thin arms around his waist instead. The slave clutched at him tightly, still crying. Roose stroked his hair. 

He could not say when either of them fell asleep. He wasn’t sure Theon ever stopped sobbing. It was so late and they were both just so exhausted...

Roose awoke with a start early in the morning. Most days he woke at six but this was even earlier. Theon was curled up on the mattress beside him with his head resting on Roose’s thigh. He looked liked he was in pain even in his sleep. Roose glanced at the clock in the darkness. It wasn’t even 5am yet. His neck was stiff and his back ached from the position he’d fallen asleep in. Roose shifted, trying to get more comfortable. He intended to fall back asleep when he heard a loud banging downstairs. Someone was knocking on the door. That must have been what had woken him. 

Carefully he climbed out of bed, determined not to wake Theon. The slave stirred but did not awaken fully. Roose hurried downstairs. He flipped on the hallway light and blinked blearily in the brightness. He went to the door and wrenched it open before whoever was out there could knock again. He didn’t need whoever it was to wake Theon with their pounding. 

Roose was met face-to-face with a young woman he’d easily mistaken for a man. “Roose Bolton?” she inferred in an angry voice.

“Can I help you?” He demanded in a dark tone. 

“Yeah,” the stranger said, jutting out her jaw like a bulldog. “I’m here for my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaa!! the greatjon had tried to warn him; " _“If the Greyjoys come knocking at your door looking for him?”_ "! stay tuned to find out what happens next, and as always feel free to comment or [send me an ask](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask)! thanks for reading!!


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends! thanks for all your nice comments, and for being so patient. only a few chapters left. i'm so sad this fic is dwindling to it's end, but i appreciate everyone's support and readership! i really hope you like these last few chapters :)
> 
> some new characters have been tagged, as the extended greyjoy family will be making an appearance. Asha Greyjoy of course showed up in the last update but this time we'll also be seeing Euron Greyjoy and Victarion Greyjoy. Aeron is mentioned but as he gets no speaking parts i've decided not to tag him. 
> 
> Some other **new tags include suicidal thoughts, minor character death** (referring to Balon, which anyone familiar with the books... and -inexplicably- not the tv show... shouldn't be too surprised by) **and incest**. I don't want to go into too much detail about the incest in the author's notes, but it's really only a small part of this chapter. It's mostly manipulation and not genuine romantic or sexual feelings between family members. Please remember that in the source material a brother and sister are literally lovers and make incest babies together so lmaoo I think what I've written is very tame and subdued in comparison. Also the incest in question includes Euron... and tbh that guy does what he wants.
> 
> thanks as always to my beautiful beta subwaywolf who read and edited this entire fic for me! recently my beautiful wolf friend tweeted about the fact that he's about to write a dissertation. incredible. here is this fancy class taking wolf boy writing important things about college level reading material, and he has taken time from his life to edit my ridiculous slavery fic where i talk about roose bolton watching theon go to the bathroom. how did i manage to land such a smart and knowing beta willing to read my fic? i dont know but i am incredibly grateful for him and every second he has spared not in the pursuit of his own education and writing but to help me instead. thank you subwaywolf. thank you thank you thank you!

Asha had to drag him from Roose’s bed, kicking and screaming. 

Theon hadn’t wanted to go. He wanted to stay with Roose. Roose was going to take care of him. Roose was going to make him soup and pet his head and tell him he was good. He didn’t want to leave. She shouldn’t have made him if he didn’t want to. 

Roose didn’t want to let her take him, either. She threatened to call SPS. She threatened to call the authorities. Roose promised he would get Theon back. He swore it. He gave Theon his word. He made the slave look him in the eyes as if that made it more true. 

Theon had cried, and his body hurt, but he fought her. He didn’t want to go with Asha, but they made him. They made him go. 

Theon barely remembered his sister. He didn’t remember her being tall or having long legs and such short black hair. He remembered her being scrawny. He remembered her as a kid, because he had been so little when he’d last seen her. 

It felt like he was being spirited away by a total stranger. She was a stranger. Theon had not spoken to her for years. A long time ago he might have been happy to see her, but he wasn’t happy now. He wanted to go back to Roose. He wanted to go back to Roose’s bed, and his arms. He didn’t want this. No matter how much he told her, she just wouldn’t listen to her. 

Asha dragged him all the way to the Iron Islands, and it wasn’t until he was on Pyke itself that he finally stopped crying. He screamed and cried all the way to the Kings Road station. He begged and pleaded and sobbed the entire train ride to the eastern shore. He threw himself down and dug his nails onto the concrete banks at the ferry dock. Asha had to pick him up and drag him onto the boat to Pyke. She had given up trying to quiet and console him by then. 

If he barely remembered his own sister, he remembered Pyke even less. People all over the island stared at him. They stared at his missing clumps of hair, and the fingers and toes that had been taken from him. They stared at the odd ill fitting clothes he was wearing. They stared at his skinny body and his bruises. Theon wanted to cry all over again.

Theon did not remember his own home. It was cluttered and old and the floorboards creaked wherever he walked. He hated the house. The servant slaves glared at him and shook their heads. He tried to run and hide but Asha found him in a closet on the third floor cowering amongst dusty old linen. 

Whenever Asha tried to speak with him, Theon refused to listen. He wanted Roose. He said it out loud over and over again. Roose didn’t come for him though. He should have known it was a lie. His mouth hurt and his body ached. His belly was so hollow. Asha tried to force him to eat food but it made him feel so unwell. Theon constantly felt like the rate of his breath was utterly out of his control. He wanted always to lie down and go to sleep. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again. 

Asha made him sleep in his old room. His bed was the same. He remembered sleeping in it when he was little. 

The night she brought him home she sat him down on it and stared hard at him. 

“Theon,” she started. Already her voice was a warning. She was frustrated with him crying. She didn’t like it. 

Theon hated being called that name. He dropped his head and his heart hurt in his chest. He wished she would stop trying to talk to him. He wished he could go back to Roose. 

“I have something to tell you.” Asha continued. 

Theon picked at a fuzz on the bed with his finger. He hated looking at his hands. Parts of them were missing. His sheets were dark blue like the ocean. His bed was the size of a child’s. He wished he could be back in Roose’s bed, big enough for four people and red as blood.

“Theon,” She said more sternly.

Theon flinched. 

“Our father’s dead.”

...He didn’t even remember their father. He tried to think of the man’s face but he couldn’t. “Roose,” Theon whispered softly.

“Stop it,” Asha demanded sternly. “Enough about Roose. This is important. I don’t know what they did to you, but surely you can understand what I’m saying to you, little brother.”

Theon didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He felt unwell. He wondered if he was dying. That might be better, if he died. 

“I know you don’t want to be here, but you have to be.” She knelt down before him. “We’re going to help you Theon. Roose hurt you, but we’re going to make you better again.”

She didn’t understand. Theon shook his head, and a horrible urgency to sob surged through them. Roose never hurt him. Not really. Not like Ramsay had. She didn’t know that. How could he explain it to her? How could he make her understand? She wouldn’t listen. She didn’t listen when he begged not to leave Roose’s house, or for the hours afterward that he pleaded to go back. 

Theon put his face in his ruined hands and he burst into tears all over again. 

“It’s alright.” She wrapped her arms around him and Theon wanted to scream. “You still have family, Theon. Father may be dead, but I’m here for you. I'm going to take care of you.”

She gave Theon the night to rest. He laid in bed for a long time pretending Roose was holding him. His mouth hurt so badly. He had to go to the bathroom but he was afraid it would hurt too much. He was hungry but worried that if he ate his stomach would hurt. He closed his eyes and thought of Roose touching his hair. 

Asha made him go to a doctor the next day. They made him answer questions he didn’t want to. They made him talk about what Ramsay had done to him. They poked him with needles. They inspected his mouth. One of the doctors took away Roose’s pajamas and Theon fought them, but they took the clothes anyway. They looked at his bruises and cuts. They looked at his missing fingers and toes and Theon had never been more embarrassed. They touched his sore cock and his aching ass. They made him rest for a long time with a needle in his arm. He wanted to rip it out and go running, but Theon didn’t think he would get very far. He wasn’t as good on his feet anymore that he didn’t have toes. 

Asha seemed so sad when she finally saw him again. She hugged her brother, which Theon did not like. He didn’t want hugs from her. She’d dragged him away from Roose. She did not know how cruel she’d been. “I won’t let them get their hands on you ever again,” she promised. 

Theon hoped that like all the other promises people made him, this one was a lie too.

After the doctor, they went home again. It wasn’t really Theon’s home. It was some place he felt like he’d dreamed up a long time ago. His brain was fuzzy and his body felt light. Asha made him wear ugly clothes. They weren’t as comfortable as the ones Roose had given him. Theon was not used to wearing clothes again. They made his skin itch. He wanted to take them off. 

She brought him to dinner and made him sit at a long table. He half recognized the faces that surrounded him; his uncles. They spoke about him as if he was not there, and Theon shrunk away in the clothes that were too big for him, pretending he wasn’t. 

“What’s wrong with him?” “How could they have gotten away with such abuse?” “Are we bringing legal action against them?” “Why isn’t he eating?” “He’s so thin! He needs to eat.” “Doesn’t he remember anything?” 

They gave him food to eat but Theon didn’t want to eat it. It would make his mouth hurt. Ramsay would punish him for eating. Roose was supposed to feed him by hand. It was all a conflicted jumble in his medicated mind. Theon was so exhausted. He just wanted to go to bed. That was all. 

“Here.” His uncle beside him leaned over and cut the chicken on his plate into little pieces. It might have been the drugs they’d given him, but Theon could swear his uncle’s lips were blue. “That a little easier for you, Theon?”

Which uncle was it? Euron? Aeron? Their names were so close. Theon couldn’t be sure.

Theon hesitated before he opened his mouth. Roose always liked that. When he opened it and left it waiting for food. His uncle hesitated for a moment before rolling with it. He speared a piece of chicken on a fork and brought it to Theon’s mouth. The entire table quieted long enough to watch. Theon chewed on the side of his mouth where it hurt less and swallowed and he opened his mouth again. 

“Stop doing that.” Someone across the table demanded as Euron went for another piece of chicken. Victarion, it was. Big and burly and mean. His face was furrowed into a scowl. “For gods sakes, Euron. Stop.”

“He likes it.” Euron laughed, shrugging, feeding Theon another piece.

“He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t be eating like a child,” Victarion insisted, angrily. 

“Let it go, uncle.” Asha put her hand on Victarion’s arm. “Theon’s not right. He’s going to have to learn to do it on his own, but it will take time.”

They did not realize Theon could hear them and understand them, or they didn’t care. That was fine. Theon didn’t care either. He ate until he was stomach ached and then he leaned back in his chair, wishing he could slide to the floor and curl up under the table. Maybe they would forget about him down there. Maybe he could be like a dog instead of a person. Ramsay pretended he was a dog sometimes and made him bark. Theon could do that again. If they forgot about him they wouldn’t take him to any more doctors. They wouldn’t force him to sit through any more meals.

When dinner was over, Euron volunteered to walk Theon up to his bedroom. “You’ve done so much, Asha,” he said kindly to his niece. “Let me.”

Asha gave her little brother a very sad look and agreed. Euron helped him to stand and walked him from the dining room. Victarion followed. 

“Let me talk to my nephew,” he demanded, which Euron found very funny. 

“I don’t think so. He’s soft in the head, Victarion,” Euron said. They might have at least pretended they weren’t talking about Theon while he was in the room at dinner, but now Euron could care less if the boy heard him or not. “He can’t even eat food by himself. What on earth are you going to say to him that’ll make sense?” 

Victarion bulled passed his brother and reached out for one of Theon’s thin arms. He gave it a shake. “You remember me, Theon?” he asked.

Theon shied away but nodded. He remembered a little. He wished Victarion would stop grabbing his arm. 

“Good,” Victarion grunted. “I followed your father for years. I been running these shipping boats for him all my life. I know the way it works. I’ve been good to Balon. You remember that, boy.”

Theon backed away inch by inch with every word Victarion spoke. He was so abrasive. Theon hated it. 

“Come on, Theon,” Euron ushered his nephew along. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Euron took him to his room. He turned on the lights and lead Theon inside. Theon thought he might leave him in there but Euron stayed. 

“Do you want help getting ready for bed?” Euron purred sweetly. He had dark hair and a pretty face. His lips really were blue too, that wasn’t just Theon’s drug induced imagination. Theon wasn’t sure how to answer. He swallowed nervously. He wasn’t sure if the answer was supposed to be yes or no.

“Here,” Euron started on the buttons of his shirt. “Let’s get you in your pajamas.”

Theon thought of Roose’s pajamas, the ones that had been taken from him and he thought he might cry. “Roose,” he whispered softly. 

“Euron,” Euron reminded him, seeming to think that his nephew had forgotten his name. Then it dawned on him. “Roose? Is that the man that did this to you?” He asked very plainly. 

That idea made Theon ache in his chest. Roose was going to take care of him. It was Ramsay that hurt him. Why didn’t they understand that? “No.” Theon whispered, turning his head away. This was too hard. He didn’t want to do this anymore. 

“No?” Euron had finished with the buttons on Theon’s shirt and he slid it off of his thin shoulders. “He’s not the one that trained you and turned you into a sex slave?”

Theon’s head was still fuzzy from the drugs, like he was swimming or dizzy or the walls were moving around him. Euron’s questions confused him. He didn’t answer.

“It’s alright.” His uncle assured him. “Just between you and me, Theon. You can tell me. You liked being Roose’s little sex slave, didn’t you?”

He’d paused in the act of undressing his nephew and stared hard at him with clear blue eyes. He smiled and he looked so handsome. 

Theon swallowed and looked away. He had liked it. He had liked eating strawberry crepes. He liked laying on the couch with his head in Roose’s lap. He liked running in the backyard. He liked when Roose looked at him like he wanted to devour him. He liked when Roose used his tongue. Theon found himself nodding gently. He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back before Ramsay had ever hurt him. He wanted to be Roose’s again.

Euron reached out for the waistband of Theon’s pants. He didn’t move to help take them off but instead slid his palm over the soft bulge of Theon’s cock through the fabric.

Theon startled, stepping back. The backs of his knees hit the bed frame and buckled and suddenly he was sitting with Euron looming over him. 

“It’s alright,” Euron soothed him. He leaned down and caught Theon’s face with a kiss. Theon let it happen, startled but unresistant. “If you want to go back to being a slave again, I’ll take good care of you. I won’t hurt you like they did. I’ll fuck you gently and make you come. You’ll be my sweet little slave. Would you like that?”

Theon would have liked it better than being forced to go to the doctor and wear itchy clothes. Euron was not Roose, but Euron had not been mean to him so far. That would be alright, he guessed. He nodded softly. “Roose,” he whispered.

“Mm,” Euron kissed him again. “I’ll be your new Roose. Just write my name down, and it’ll all be yours.”

Theon didn’t know what that meant. He felt so dizzy, he wondered if this wasn’t all a dream. Euron helped him out of his clothes and he kissed Theon again and again making soft promises to him. Theon stopped listening. He turned away from his uncle and pulled the covers over his shoulders. Euron left him there. He turned out the light in Theon’s room and left him to fall asleep. 

In the morning, Theon hurt all over. His mouth, especially. He had to go to the bathroom but it hurt so badly. Roose used to stand over him and watch him and make sure he was okay. Theon had hated it at the time and he wasn’t sure that he missed it now but he wished he didn’t have to go through all this pain alone.

Asha came knocking on his door. She brought breakfast and pain medicine. Theon was happy for the medication. He hoped it would make him feel the same as he had yesterday. Dealing with all of this was much easier with the world was a hazy blur. 

“We have an important day today, Theon,” she told him. 

Theon didn’t like the sound of that. He swallowed nervously. She laid out clothes for him. She helped him dress. She didn’t kiss him like Euron did but that was okay. Theon wasn’t sure he wanted kisses from her. When he was ready, Asha hugged her little brother. “It’s you and me in this together,” she whispered. “Keep that in mind. You and me, Theon.”

She took him by the hand, the one with more fingers on it, and she lead him downstairs. She lead him to the dinner table from the night before. All their uncles were already sitting down there waiting for them. Euron, Aeron, and Victarion. There were other people too, faces Theon did not know. He felt bad, wondering if he should remember them.

“Sit here,” Asha showed him a chair and Theon sat. 

“Hello, Theon,” said one man who Theon did not recognize. He was a well-dressed man with glasses and a big briefcase on the table in front of him. “How are you?”

Theon didn’t answer.

“Listen,” the man continued. “I understand that Asha told you about your father’s passing. Is that true?”

Theon nodded. 

“It was unexpected for everyone, even for Balon himself. He hadn’t had a chance to update the outdated legal documents in which you are named heir to his company.” The man continued to explain. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and your family is worried that you might not be able to run such an expansive shipping operation in your current state.”

Theon didn’t understand. He wanted to go back to bed. He wanted more pain killers. It wasn’t about what he wanted, though. It was about what Roose wanted. Except Roose wasn’t here.

“What we’d like you to do is sign over ownership of your father’s company. All you have to do is write the name of who you’d like to run the place in your stead.” The man took out a document from his briefcase and a very fancy pen. He put the pen on top of the paper and slid it over to Theon. “Do you understand, Theon?”

Theon sort of understood, but he didn’t answer.

“Just write the name of who you want to run the company and then sign your own name right there.” The man pointed to two blank lines on the paper. 

Theon looked up at his uncles, and his sister. He wondered why they didn’t just pick someone for him. It was easier when Theon didn’t have to make decisions. Maybe they had tried. Maybe they had fought each other until they were blue in the face trying to pick someone. Victarion and Euron and Asha all seemed to be vying for his eye contact, begging to be chosen. 

Theon reached out tentatively to take the pen. He understood a little better now why Victarion had grabbed his arm, and why Euron had given him kisses, and why Asha had given him hugs. He had a hard time holding the pen with missing fingers. He could feel his ears turning red. He wanted to hide.

Theon scribbled across the paper and hurriedly pushed it away from him. He wished he could run away. His couldn’t control his breathing and suddenly it was coming all too fast. Asha hurried to his side. 

“It’s okay, Theon,” she squeezed his shoulder. “I know it was tough. You did well.”

The man picked up the paper and stared at it for a moment. “I… I’m sorry, I can’t read his handwriting.” He frowned. 

Victarion thrust forth to snatch the document in his hands, desperate to know who Theon had chosen. He focused hard on the scribbled letters for a moment before his stare turned into a stone cold glare. 

“...Who the fuck is Roose Bolton?” he demanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for reading! i hope you enjoyed theon's pov. feel free to leave a comment or [send me an ask on tumblr!](http://frankcastles.tumblr.com/ask) :)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it... this is the last chapter! can you believe we made it this far? thanks everyone for being so patient...!
> 
> and thanks for course to my beautiful beta subwaywolf for all his care and attention he gave to this fic. without him it would be an honest to god MESS, or not even exist at all. thank you so much for all your hard work subwaywolf!

Roose took the first flight out to the Iron Islands he could find. It was an impossibly expensive first class seat on a direct Targaryen Air flight. He never would have spent so much on a plane ticket, but as soon as he got the call informing him he was the new owner and operator of Greyjoy Shipping International, he had go to. Not for the sake of the company he had suddenly come in control of, but for Theon. 

The flight landed on a little island known as Saltcliffe. There was little else to be found on the island besides the airport. He took a ferry over to Pyke and caught a quick cab ride to the Greyjoy estate. He was met with a sprawling victorian home. It stretched four stories up, but it was more tall than it was wide. For how many floors there were they didn’t seem to be much to the place. 

Roose found it rude that no one had been there to meet him at the airport, or even at the ferry dock. He had to find his way to the Greyjoy’s place all on his own. He walked straight up to the front door and used the doorbell. It was a very long time before anyone answered. Roose expected the same tomboy of a girl who had come to banging on his door to drag Theon away from him (literally). Instead it was a humble looking slave who Roose immediately understood was a house servant. 

Roose introduced himself, and explained that he was looking for Theon Greyjoy and he was very quickly admitted inside. He was lead to a living room and invited to sit down and wait. Roose decided against sitting.

The whole place seemed to be cluttered and the living room was no exception. There was a large fireplace with a heavy mantle loaded with knick-knacks and pictures and figurines and display pieces. There were a few desks and side tables that lined the room, all covered with the same types of items. The walls were covered in pictures, heavy with ornate frames. There were different types of intensely patterned rugs that covered an already colorful carpet. 

The furniture did not match and it looked well lived-in and worn. The coffee table was covered in coasters and papers and magazines. There was a large TV stand that held an even larger TV with a myriad of game systems and a DVD player all attached with poorly hidden cords. The only thing that tied the place together were deep tones of dark burgundy, black, dark browns, and very dark blues.

He could see through the open doorway to the dining room. There was a huge table with multiple centerpieces, all ornate over-elaborate and ornamental. Everywhere he looked there was something to see. The whole place felt overcrowded and thick with content. 

Roose could hear the wooden spiral staircase that lead up to the upper stories of the house creak and groan under the weight of footing. He moved closer to the entryway to get a better look at the stairs. He was expecting it to be Theon but somehow it was still a surprise to see him there. Roose moved to make his way over and help him down the last few steps. 

Theon spotted him at the bottom of the staircase and nearly fell, he was in such a hurry to get down there. He threw himself into Roose's arms. They had never really hugged before. They held each other close at night and in the shower, but they had never gone all out in an embrace until now. Theon clutched desperately at Roose’s middle and Roose hugged him very kindly in return.

“I called your name,” Theon whispered, burying his face in Roose’s chest. “Again and again, I called your name. I called your name.”

“I came for you. I told you I would.” Roose smoothed down Theon’s brittle hair, petting him softly.

Roose held Theon just like that for a long time. There was more creaking on the stairs and when Roose looked up he spotted Asha with her arms crossed, a cold look on her face. 

“If you think you can walk right in here and-”

Theon squeezed Roose tighter, suddenly trying to hide. 

“I don’t,” Roose interrupted very quickly, shutting her down with his soft, commanding tone. “Whatever you’re expecting. It’s not what I came here to do. I’m not going to take your brother away from you. I’m not going to rip your father’s company out from under your hands.”

It was clear she didn’t like this, but the longer she stared at Roose and Theon embracing one another the softer her expression became. “He says you didn’t hurt him,” she murmured. 

Roose thought of the times he had whipped Theon with a belt, and fucked him hard enough to make him bleed. He may have been strict and harsh but he had been nothing compared to Ramsay. Still, he was guilty of causing Theon pain and he knew it. “I wasn’t the one to turn him into what he is now,” Roose replied carefully. “I would like to help, if you’ll let me. If he wants me to.”

“All he wants is you,” Asha replied, a flash of her disapproval reappearing. Her disappointment subsided as quickly as it had coursed through her. “We have a spare room you can stay in.”

Asha showed them to the guest bedroom. The lighting was dim, and the room was small. The bed took up most of it. It was a huge mattress with floral patterned bedding that looked like it had been there for twenty years. There were dressers and drawers and a vanity with a great big mirror. The carpet was dark the walls were painted wine red. It wasn’t home, but it would suit Roose just fine. 

Asha helped move Theon’s things into the spare room, setting aside a drawer for him. This wasn’t her ideal situation, but she was rolling with the punches. She seemed leery of leaving the two of them alone together, but since Balon had passed on she was the one running things and the shipping company could not go long without her. She had to excuse herself to take care of some business.

Roose instructed Theon to sit and wait on the bed and he followed her out to the hall. 

“I have no interest in running a shipping company,” he told her plainly. 

“Good,” She said back. “Sign it over to me, then.” 

Roose shook his head. “It’s Theon’s. He might want it someday. It’s mine in title until he asks for it, and then I will happily sign it over to him. What did you do at the company before your father passed?” he asked her.

Asha was frowning a little, but she did not hesitate to answer. “I was second in command under Balon.”

“Good. You’ve been promoted to your father’s old position. I’m trusting you to lead this place until Theon is ready to. If he’s ever ready. Are you willing to do that with me being the owner?”

“It’s Greyjoy Shipping International, not Bolton. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this place up and running. I mean that.” It was more of a warning than anything. Asha was clearly letting Roose know not to get in her way. 

Roose nodded. “I understand.”

Asha had to leave then, but she left feeling a little better about the future of her father’s business. She felt a little more confident about Theon’s future too. Most importantly, she left disliking Roose Bolton a little less than she had before the two of them had spoken. 

Roose spent the rest of the night with Theon. The bath tub in the Greyjoy’s bathroom was not as big as the one in Roose’s master bathroom, but it worked. He bathed Theon with love and care. He saw that many bruises were fading and marks that had been once red and raw were turning pink. He dried Theon by hand and fluffed his hair with a towel. He brushed it out gently as if wasn’t brittle and balding. 

For dinner he made strawberry crepes. The fresh strawberries would be good for Theon, and they ate it with milk which would help him grow stronger as well. Roose fed him by hand and Theon practically glowed with happiness. He crawled up to Roose’s side and rested his head on his thigh when they were finished eating. 

“Good,” Roose murmured gently. 

Theon had never been more happy to hear the word. 

Roose knew they would have to work on all of this. Theon would need to learn to sit at the table. He would need to learn to feed himself. He would need to learn that he wasn’t a slave anymore. It would take a long time, but Roose would show him. 

At the end of the night they walked hand in hand up to the spare bedroom. They curled up under the covers. Theon nuzzled right up under Roose’s chin and he tangled their legs together. Roose held him in his arms. Theon drifted not into an exhausted rest but sweetly off into dreamless peace. Roose stayed awake for a long time, content to hold Theon in his arms and do nothing more. Eventually he fell asleep too. 

They both slept better than they had in a long, long time. 

They were right where they were supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! there's only the epilogue left, so savor it, friends! as always feel free to comment if you'd like :)


	30. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's been reading from the beginning, leaving comments, sharing their thoughts and enjoying this fic. I'm so sad posting these last chapters today, I don't want this to end... I appreciate every last one of you and I'm so grateful I had such lovely and amazing readers to share this fic with! thank you! I hope you all enjoy the ending.
> 
> and for the final time with this fic, thank you to my amazing and beautiful beta subwaywolf. i added it up and i've written 2,565 words worth of thank yous to you in the chapter notes and it still doesn't feel like enough. to you i'm not "the comma problem" or the writer with kinks to gross to read. you were there for me during the darkest depths of my mcu fandom phase, you've read every gross vomit fic, you even made it through this 90k beast. you are so much kinder than you know. thank you for all your hard work. i adore you, thank you.

“Theon,” Roose said gently. “Do you have a question for your sister?” he asked.

Theon shifted nervously in his seat at the table. He bit at the inside of his lip, seeming to consider. His hair was getting so long. It had only been a few months ago that they’d shaved it off but already it was long enough that it was starting to fall into his eyes. Theon liked to hide behind his bangs so Roose carefully reached over to brush it away from his face.

Asha sat down heavily at the table and began dishing herself dinner. She had salt on her brow from the spray at the harbor. Choppy waters had been beating against Pyke’s shores for days now. Roose had learned that this meant potential damage for the docked shipping boats, but there had been no accidents yet.

“Uhm,” Theon cradled his fork awkwardly in his hand. He still hadn’t quite found a good way of holding it yet. “...How… The new shipment... From Dorne.” He struggled to think of the right words.

“The liner to Dorne came back in one piece with all slaves accounted for.” Asha reported happily before diving in to the meal Roose had cooked. She smelled like saltwater and her hair was a mess from the wind but she didn’t seem to mind.

The shipment from Dorne had been their biggest one since Roose had been named owner of the company. It was full of Martell sex slaves and Dayne soldier slaves and Drinkwater companions. Such a large shipment wouldn’t have been so worrisome if it weren’t for the weather recently. Roose was glad to hear that things had gone well. He wasn’t so far removed from the business end of things; he was kept abreast of all goings on and often included in important decision making. Mostly he liked to keep Theon updated. It was good to have him remain focused on the shipping company.

“What about you, little brother. How did your doctor’s appointment go?” she asked between bites.

Theon looked to Roose who very pointedly focused on his meal. He didn’t give Theon any cues.

“Okay,” Theon said, struggling to cut into his food. He went for a scoop of mashed potatoes instead because he didn’t have to cut those but he was quickly running out of mashed potatoes.

“What did the doctor tell you about your health, Theon?” Roose pressed him to continue.

“...’m better.” Theon shrugged.

“He’s no longer underweight,” Roose informed. He reached across the table to cut one piece of Theon’s chicken for him. Just the one.

“Good job, Theon.” Asha grinned at him. “I’m proud of you!”

Theon glanced up, flashing a grin. His teeth were covered in a latticework of metal wire. The dental work was far from finished but Theon would have all new teeth soon, nice porcelain veneers that no one would stare at.

“We’d like to come down tomorrow to visit the office, if you’re not too busy.” Now that the Dornish shipment was in, it would be much less stressful for Asha to treat them to a visit. Likely, they would just have lunch and Theon would get a look around, but it would be good to get out of the house.

“Of course,” Asha nodded. “Call me when you want to come in. I’ll give Theon another tour.”

Theon had gotten upset last time and wanted to go home before they’d even gotten out of the car. Roose would have been disappointed but Theon had been adamant about going home and it was hard to get him to genuinely want anything.

He was getting better.

He wasn't a slave anymore, and he wasn't Ramsay's half-starved plaything either. He wasn't quite ready to be Balon's heir yet, but he was getting better.

Roose enjoyed taking care of him. He missed running his business but he was part of a new company now and he focused on what was important: Theon. Roose liked taking care of him, and he was getting better.

Every day, he was getting better.

 

* * *

indemnify  
verb in·dem·ni·fy \in-ˈdem-nə-ˌfī\  
1: to secure against hurt, loss, or damage  
2: to make compensation to for incurred hurt, loss, or damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://deathtouch.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/deathtouchxx)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Repossessed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12937917) by [applesofthemoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/applesofthemoon/pseuds/applesofthemoon)




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